


Keep the Light Shining

by clydeside



Series: Keep the Light Shining [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canadian Gothic, Do not feed the wildlife, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide of background characters, It's Soft, It's spooky, Lighthouses, M/M, Slow Build, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 91,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clydeside/pseuds/clydeside
Summary: The lighthouse of Crawford Sound is haunted, they say. Yugi thinks it might be true, because there is something that follows him in the night. It watches and it waits.And something else is watching, waiting for him to make a mistake.(Yugi is a lighthouse keeper and the place is definitely haunted)
Relationships: Atem/Mutou Yuugi, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi
Series: Keep the Light Shining [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170293
Comments: 279
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was a post going around tumblr that said something like “Forget cottage!core, how about lighthouse!core” and I thought “yeah, I’m into that”. And now you can be too! If you don't know anything about lighthouses, don't worry, I've got you covered ;)
> 
> Please enjoy some self-indulgent spooky goodness.  
> 
> 
> Some amazing folks have made art inspired by this fic!! You guys are incredible, I’m still swooning. (Spoilers ahead – click with caution)
> 
> [Ankyuubi](https://ankyuubi.tumblr.com/post/643821310767661056/a-scene-from-keep-the-light-shining) (chapter 5)  
> [Ientina1234](https://ientina1234.tumblr.com/post/635695417488719872/fanfiction-fanart-bon-voyage-yugi-boy) (chapter 6)  
> [Red](https://shinayashipper.tumblr.com/post/641660908578455552/happy-birthday) (chapter 7)  
> [Imzreg-arts](https://imzreg-arts.tumblr.com/post/637690736331145216/keep-the-light-shining-chapter-1-clydeside) (chapter 8)  
> 
> 
> 22 Feb 2021 - While going through everything for typos and minor stylistic edits, Chapter 1 got a little extra work for pacing, plus the notable addition of its own news heading. Other than that there's nothing new.

_“Following the end of the reign of Egypt’s Mehmet Ali, speculation grows surrounding preparations that have been secretly making which indicate that important events are at hand. The Earl of Crawford’s personal vessel has docked in Alexandria, taking not only six months pay for its crew, but provisions for six months. With respect to the place of its destination, nothing has transpired, however several successive couriers have affirmed that they had despatches of great importance.”_ ~ The Harbour Times, June 8th, 1848

*

It sounded like a good idea.

The job was advertised as solitary, unique, and vitally important. ‘ _Get back to basics! Make a difference while enjoying spectacular views!’_ the ad cheered. There was an inviting image of a lighthouse on a rolling green hill. The job posting for a lighthouse keeper was thin on the details, even sparser on the requirements, but Yugi didn’t think too hard about attaching his resume and clicking ‘submit’. Why not. It would vanish into the void of some unmonitored inbox, never to be heard from again.

It was fun to think about, though. He’d graduated from university nearly a year ago, and every day as a drone in a cubicle at Kaiba Corp was more soul sucking than the last.

And with both mom and grandpa gone, and Anzu off in New York City… well, a solitary job in the North Atlantic didn’t sound too bad. He already felt isolated in a city of millions. He could do with an excuse to get away from Domino. A change. Fresh scenery.

Yugi heard his supervisor, Ushio, coming up behind him and he clicked away from the obvious job search to an innocent-looking spreadsheet.

*

The phone call came on a Wednesday.

Yugi was eating lunch at his desk, as usual, and it took an embarrassingly long moment to recognize the chirping ringtone as his own.

PEGASUS DEV CORP scrolled along the screen, and he cautiously accepted it.

“Good afternoon, is this Yugi Mutou?” asked a woman.

Yugi answered affirmatively, and without missing a beat the woman launched into an enthusiastic spiel.

“I’m calling from Pegasus Development Corporation, and I’m _thrilled_ to say you’ve been selected for an interview!”

“I-I’m sorry, what’s this for?” he asked, heart skipping a beat in excitement, but trying to keep his voice hushed so his coworkers wouldn’t overhear.

The lighthouse keeper, of all things. She sunnily went on — would he be available to come in tomorrow morning to meet with them?

Yugi choked out an agreement, and when he hung up, he had an address and instructions to come by for 11am. He peeked over the wall of his cubicle at Ushio in his office, not really sure what he was going to do. Ushio _never_ approved time off short notice. Was some interview for a weird job worth risking the flack he’d get later?

Before he could make a decision, there was a ping from his email. He sighed and went back to work.

*

There was no one in the apartment to greet him when he came in the door late that evening. He flicked on a light, kicked off his shoes, and opened the fridge to scrounge up something for dinner.

It had been too hard to live above the Game Shop after grandpa had died, so he’d sold the business and the building. And, not sure where to go instead, he’d rented this small, narrow space. Anzu had hated it when he’d taken her on a little virtual tour. “ _Yugi, I’m worried about you,”_ she’d said over the phone. But she was far away, dancing and living her dreams, so there was nothing for her to do about it.

Yugi was alone to cope with his directionless life. He did his work, he stayed home, and wondered if this would be all there was to it.

The microwave pinged and he retrieved the container of leftovers. The kitchen table was covered with a half-complete puzzle, so he sat cross-legged on his bed, a fork in one hand and phone in the other.

He found himself re-reading the posting for that bizarre lighthouse job. He hadn’t heard back from any _relevant_ job he’d applied to; the interview tomorrow was the first he’d gotten since he’d started looking.

Skeptical, he started looking more carefully to see if this company was even legitimate. But it was. Pegasus Development Corporation was a surprisingly huge multinational company, in… an equally surprising number of industries. The parent company for some shipping and mining things, as well as… owning Industrial Illusions? The game development company?

Yugi poured over it, more intent. He hadn’t been getting anywhere with Kaiba Corp, so maybe this could be a foot in the door to something else? It wouldn’t be a very _linear_ career progression, but he started flipping through scenic pictures of lighthouses, trying to imagine it. All the photos were of white pillars, striped with red, seated on grassy knolls by a glittering ocean with cloudless blue skies.

It would definitely be a change. To take a one-year contract out of the city. Leave his tired apartment. Get out of his comfort zone, like his grandpa had always encouraged him to do.

Something new was almost as appealing as just _getting away_. Going somewhere that he wouldn’t run into old high school bullies. Or worse, his university classmates who had all quickly found themselves in fulfilling careers and relationships.

What had he achieved? Nothing of note. Never had the chance, or if he had, never had the courage to go for it.

He dropped his phone on the bed. Who was he kidding? While it was fun to _think_ about adventures it was another thing entirely to pursue one.

He would call and cancel first thing in the morning.

*

Yugi’s dreams were full of ocean waves and salt air and fresh starts all night. It stirred something in him.

So much so, that he couldn’t bring himself to cancel the interview. He paced the kitchen, spinning his phone in his hands. He could take a sick day. He hadn’t taken one since he’d started. What would be the harm? No one would even know. He’d work even later tomorrow to catch up on things.

Yugi thought he might _actually_ be sick as he tapped out the email to his supervisor, but as soon as the message was sent, he felt like something in him had been freed.

*

Yugi had no idea what he was doing here. More uncomfortable than sitting in slacks and a button-down shirt was this _weird_ interview. With every passing minute, it was feeling more like some kind of sales pitch and he had no idea what to make of it.

“We’re just looking for the _right fit_. Someone who’ll thrive in that kind of environment!” the perky hiring manager was saying.

The _right fit_ didn’t seem to have any particular qualities other than able to survive without internet. The lighthouse was on an island with few amenities and fewer people. Yugi wondered if they’d tried to google him. An unobtrusive online presence, with only a smattering of loose acquaintances. Similar to his nondescript apartment and vacant social life.

When he asked about the place itself, she painted a welcoming picture. The lighthouse was a short distance from the mainland. There were plans to increase tourism to the area with a quaint bed and breakfast and whale watching tours sometime in the next few years, but for now it was trafficked mostly by small watercraft, no dirty tankers or noisy cruise ships. Beautiful untarnished seascapes, friendly locals, and the pleasure of living in the place known as Crawford Sound. A place to get in touch with nature, and yourself.

She made it sound delightful, if Yugi was honest.

“Have you been there?” he asked.

“Oh, god no!” For a second she looked panicked, but she quickly shifted to something banal: “I only vacation in places with wifi.”

When he asked for more details about the work itself, she waved her hand airily. “Just turning on and off a big light. It’s not complicated, but a local guy would show you the ropes. It says on your resume you’ve got a bachelors in…” She squinted at the resume in her hand. “Computer Science with a concentration in game design? You’d handle it no problem. You know, I think I heard that the guy before you had a lovely little garden! Started working the land. Really tried to turn the place into a cute little cottage! So wonderful! Plenty of time to spend on personal hobbies out there.”

Yugi thought about all the games he had piled in the closet, gathering dust. The lighthouse wouldn’t be much different.

“Is there… anyone I’d be reporting to?” Yugi asked, trying to steer the conversation back towards something useful.

“Oh, well, we take care of the logistics and hiring here, but it’s not really managed by the company itself. It’s the personal property of Pegasus Crawford, and you’d be working directly for him. His family has owned the land around that channel for generations! Most lighthouses are government run, but it’s a point of pride to be managing such an incredible piece of history! In terms of others… well, it always has to be staffed, and we try to post people in pairs.”

She didn’t have any insight into who that partner might be. She grinned, and Yugi thought it was more of a wince. “We have a volunteer from the community helping out temporarily, but he can only stay so long, so I _really_ need someone who can start immediately.”

She kept chattering on, and Yugi wasn’t sure what to make of it. When she asked what his salary expectations were, he threw out a number he thought would be outrageous.

She didn’t bat an eye. She _nodded_. “The compensation package also includes food and accommodations. Any time off would need to be discussed with Mr. Crawford, however.”

Yugi was flabbergasted, and when he eventually left the office his head was spinning. She said she would ‘be in touch soon’ but even if he never heard back, he had to admit it was the most oddly surreal interview of his life. They’d pay _triple_ what he currently made? To turn on some lights and live in a cottage by the ocean?

He wasn’t hungry for money or anything. He would easily trade every penny he had to his name to have his grandpa or his mother back. To have the intangible wealth of companionship. But he hadn’t found that on his own yet. So while the whole thing reeked of something _off_ , he couldn’t help but feel a little optimistic. That maybe this Mr. Crawford was just that eccentric and that desperate, and this was the opportunity for something new he’d been waiting for.

He adjusted his bag over his shoulder and mulled it over on his walk home. If they called him back, could he really just drop everything and go? Perhaps. If he worked directly for the man for a year, it might be a good connection back into the gaming industry. And his grandfather would probably have been delighted at the idea of Yugi getting out on his own for a while, doing something unconventional.

Yugi was so lost in thought, he turned a corner and collided hard with someone. A frappuccino exploded everywhere.

“Watch where you’re walking!” an angry and _familiar_ voice shouted.

Yugi froze as he found himself face to face with Ushio. It _was_ lunch time, and he was walking past the coffee shop only a block away from the office.

“ _Yugi_!? Didn’t you say you were home sick?”

He briefly thought about throwing himself in front of a passing bus. “I, uh, was feeling better? Thought I’d come in.”

“God, I can’t believe you.” His boss tried to wipe the splatter of whipped cream off his shirt. Then he caught sight of Yugi’s dressed up look. “What? Did you have an interview somewhere? Thought you could find something better?” he snapped.

“No, I—” Yugi did not want to have this kind of display in the street, but there was no derailing Ushio.

“You’re never gonna do better, Yugi. I’ve known you long enough to know—”

It wasn’t fists in an alley behind the high school, or insults behind a closed office door, but no one stopped to give them a second look. Simply averted their eyes and kept walking.

And Yugi didn’t know how to _get away_ himself. What he would give for _anyone_ to intervene—

His phone buzzed in his pocket. While any other time he might have ignored it, he hurriedly pulled it out and held it to his ear without looking to see who it was.

Ushio’s voice notched up a few decibels at the flagrant disrespect, and Yugi tried to listen to the voice on the other end of the line. Any kind of escape from where he was right now.

“Mr. Mutou? I hope I’m not disturbing you,” the woman’s voice hesitated, clearly overhearing the shouting on Yugi’s other side. “I’m calling you back from Pegasus Development Corporation. We’d like to offer you the job if you can start Monday.”

Yugi didn’t hesitate. He accepted the job and resigned in the same breath.

*

When the paperwork was signed and done, he learned that starting Monday meant leaving on a redeye flight late Saturday night. Which meant only two days to pack up everything in Domino. He was, for an instant, relieved at the simplicity of his lifestyle. It shouldn’t be too hard to wrap up things here.

One of the first things he did was call his landlady. He tried to apologize for the short notice but the woman was unexpectedly ecstatic.

“You’re young! Go off on your grand adventure!” she’d said, offering just as quickly take care of cleaning up whatever Yugi didn’t bring with him. Her enthusiasm was heartwarming. He only saw the old woman once a month when he dropped off his cheque, but these days he saw her perhaps more than anyone else outside of work, and he was grateful for her support.

He also texted the news to Anzu, though it was already late in New York and she probably wouldn’t see it til the morning. Surprisingly, she replied right away with a slew of emojis and a ‘ _FINALLY. thats amazing!! cant wait to have you on the east coast. theyre lucky to have you!_ ’

Yugi grinned at the message. His heart felt lighter than it had in ages. He was _excited_. He pulled his grandpa’s battered suitcases out of the back of the closet and set to packing.

*

They hadn’t been kidding when they described it as _remote_. Three different flights on progressively smaller aircraft were needed. First a long-haul to bring him from the Pacific to the Atlantic, then a zig-zagging path north brought him as far as a sleepy coastal town called Hawkins Harbour. From here, the final leg to Crawford Sound would be on a privately chartered seaplane _._ Yugi had never travelled much, and he tried to focus on being uncharacteristically bold rather than second guessing _what the hell he was doing out here_.

Hawkins Harbour didn’t even have a proper airport. Was nothing like the Domino City Airport he’d started in. This was just an office with a seating area beside a landing strip. The company had told him there was no set time when this last flight would leave, only that the pilot would come looking for him when ready, so Yugi settled in to a curved plastic chair, propped his feet up on a suitcase, and pulled out his phone. Just one bar of service here, and a rapidly draining battery. Well, that wasn’t going to be a helpful distraction. He put it back in his pocket and looked through the window to the tarmac outside.

It was sunny, but far colder for an August day than Yugi was used to. Someone had propped open the door to, Yugi assumed, take advantage of their idea of nice weather, or the sea breeze. He wanted to get a hat and gloves from his suitcase, but it was so tightly packed, so disorganized, he doubted he’d ever be able to close it again. And he didn’t really want his stuff to spill out in front of the old couple curiously staring at him from across the seating area. He tried to avoid their eye-contact. His clothes and hair definitely stood out. There was no way he fit in here.

He started to worry he hadn’t packed enough warm things. Hopefully he’d be able to buy something? …Order something? Geez, what was he supposed to do about that sort of stuff? Hawkins Harbour was already barely a village, would he be able to get _anything_ in Crawford Sound?

His growing anxiety was interrupted as someone came in the open door.

“Heeeey, you must be Yugi!” A tall, lanky blond was striding up to him, wearing faded jeans, a heavy bomber jacket, and a wide smile. Yugi stood to shake his outstretched hand.

“Joey Wheeler, and I will be your pilot today!” he introduced himself. His smile faltered as he properly took in Yugi, and then the two overstuffed suitcases beside him. “…This all you brought?”

“Y-yeah,” Yugi said nervously. “Kind of short notice. And I didn’t really know what I’d need.”

Joey clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine, as long as you fit a priest in one of those bags.”

Yugi’s wide-eyed expression made him backtrack quickly. “Sorry man, I shouldn’t joke about that. It was a real tragedy.” He quickly changed the subject. “I’ll be taking care of your supply runs, so if you ever need anything, you just let me know and I’ll pick it up for the next time. I’ve got the plane loaded with everything else already. Should be plenty of room for this!” He picked up one of the suitcases and easily carried it through the door and out onto the tarmac. Yugi hauled his second bag behind him and tried to keep up.

A white Cessna seaplane with a bold red stripe was waiting outside for them. It had four seats in the front half, and the rest had been removed to make room for cargo.

“You’re really lucky we’ve got good weather today!” Joey whistled as he weighed Yugi’s bags and set about slotting them into the back of the plane. “Haven’t seen blue skies in a while. Herb’s going to be real glad to see us. Though…”

Yugi felt Joey’s scrutinizing gaze and couldn’t help but feel defensive. “What?”

“You’re a little different than the usual type Mr. Crawford hires. I guess they figured it was worth trying something else.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Yugi said honestly.

“Nothing! Just, you’re probably the first person he’s ever hired under the age of _sixty_. You know. I kind of expected another crotchety old ex-con, not a…” He was clearly not sure what to make of Yugi’s snug black attire. “…City kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Yugi huffed, a little put out. “The woman who hired me said it was… kind of cottage-y? Sounds nice enough for anyone.”

Joey sighed and rolled his eyes. “Those people have no idea what it’s like out there. How much did they tell you about the place?”

Yugi frowned. “Not much. Said there’d be someone to show me the ropes.”

“Well, I guess that’s one way to fill the job.” He shook his head. “Herb’s from here but he’s been out manning the lighthouse alone the past two weeks. He’ll be happy to see they’ve sent someone younger, I think. The last couple guys… it’s a tough job, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it either.”

Before Yugi could say anything to that, Joey opened the cockpit door, herded Yugi into the co-pilot seat and handed him a huge pair of headphones. “Let me just finish up pre-flight and we’ll be on our way!”

*

Joey was in his element. His eyes were bright behind his sunglasses, and he eagerly pointed out various landmarks for Yugi from their vantage point in the air.

Yugi still couldn’t quite wrap his head around _being here_ , but Joey’s casual delight was infectious, and he found himself enjoying the scenery and the company in spite of himself.

The lighthouse of Crawford Sound was a bumpy forty-minute flight north up the coast. Joey explained that while tankers and cruise ships heading south from the Labrador Sea would usually go straight to one the bigger ports, other ships would sometimes look to make land in one of the small harbours. Mostly fishing boats or the rare yacht. The Sound itself was a treacherous stretch of water, and the lighthouse sat on an island way out from the coast to ward off people from the rocks in the strait.

It was easy to see how perilous it might be. The ragged line of the coast was mostly rocky cliffs. But it was also wild and free. Below them, thousands of birds filled the air: puffins bombed around like little fighter pilots, while gulls drifted tranquilly in the breeze. The ocean was blue, like the sky, and calm. Yugi had lived his whole life in an oceanside city, but out here, high above with empty shoreline to the left, and the Atlantic curving into the horizon on the right… Yugi for the first time thought he might understand why old adventurers had felt called to set sail.

“Did you grow up here?” Yugi asked into the headset, a little too loudly. The noise of the propellers was a loud drone, even with the protective gear over his ears.

Joey beamed at him. “Pretty much my whole life! When ma left dad, she decided to move back out here, brought me and my sis’ with her. Probably a good thing. Kept me outta trouble. Or at least the kind of trouble I was starting to get into in the city,” he winked. “I love it out here, couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, or doing anything but this!” He gestured to his plane, and the world that expanded before them.

Yugi believed him. Joey continued to speak with an obvious love of his family and friends and home. He couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

When Joey finished his fervent ode to Hawkins Harbour, he gave Yugi a sidelong glance. “So can I ask you something?” He looked like he still couldn’t make sense of the person seated beside him. He waited for Yugi to nod before he asked it: “Not gonna lie, Crawford Sound is pretty far out there. No matter what they pay, it’s a weird place to go. Usually it’s old convicts running from their past. You running from something?”

It was an uncomfortably astute conclusion to make, though Yugi couldn’t really say that he was running from anything in particular. “There just wasn’t anything back home for me. Thought I’d get away, try doing something new.”

Joey’s laugh was disbelieving. “Yeah… can’t say I’d come _here_ for that. People way tougher than you or me have gone crazy out here. I hope you like your own company.”

Yugi shifted nervously in his seat. “At least I won’t be alone. There’ll be someone else working with me.”

Joey looked at him sharply. “They didn’t tell you?”

Yugi’s stomach dropped, suddenly very nervous. “Tell me what?”

“The office told me they hadn’t found anyone else to start yet. If they do, they probably won’t be up ‘til the next supply run, a month from now.” Joey took in Yugi’s doomed expression and growled. “Shit. That bastard. This is why no one likes him.”

Yugi felt nauseous. Actually alone? “There’s a town or something nearby right?”

“Yeah… not so much.” Joey banked the plane into a wide, low circle to show Yugi his new home.

A small bay looked like it had been scooped out of the surrounding cliffs, and a little cluster of old, vacant houses dotted the shore, huddled close to a pier.

And as they turned, it came into view: a mile from shore jutted a rocky island, stark and barren as it rose out of the ocean. There were birds nesting mid-way up its steep cliffs, and at the very top, in a sparse field of grey-green grass, perched the gleaming white pillar of a lighthouse. A few other structures dotted the island, and Yugi spotted a small boathouse in a sheltered nook way down at the bottom of the cliffs. Beyond that there was nothing else to the place.

He couldn’t help staring in wonder. It was lonely and bleak and _beautiful_.

Joey brought the plane down to land on the water, and even with the choppy waves bouncing against the pontoons, he gently guided them to a dock alongside the boathouse.

A burly old man was standing on the dock, waiting for them with a worn leather duffle bag as his feet. As Yugi clambered out of the plane, he got a good look at him. Huge and gruff and weathered, wisps of white hair and a poorly shaven beard over the stern jut of his jaw. Despite his age he looked like he could wrestle _anything_ and win. Except maybe he’d lost a fight recently: his right arm was in a sling.

The man caught him staring. “Am I wearin’ your fuckin’ clothes, boy?” he snapped.

Yugi sputtered an apology and looked away, but the man had already turned his scowl on Joey. “Thought you’d never get ‘ere, I can’t wait to get off this god forsaken rock. And who the hell is that?” he asked with a nod to Yugi.

Joey laughed nervously. “Herb, this is Yugi. Your… er, replacement?”

“ _What_ in the blazes they playin’ at?” he raved. “What’ll a weed like him do when something happens?!”

“Yeah, I was thinking, Herb,” Joey started. “I might bring him back, if you’d stay a bit longer ‘til we can…” He looked uncertainly at Yugi. “Get him sorted out?”

Yugi grimaced, but didn’t disagree. This was _way_ more isolated than he expected, and Joey was probably right. He should go back. Prepare and come back later _with_ someone else. That, or quit before he’d even started.

“Crawford’s payin’ you?” the old man said to Yugi.

He nodded mutely, intimidated by this looming hulk of a man.

“Then this ain’t my problem anymore. No way in hell I’m stayin’ another night.” When Joey looked like he’d object, Herb added, “I’ll _swim_ back, if you don’t take me, and you know how well that’ll go.”

“It was just an idea,” Joey muttered, then turned his attention to the sling the man was wearing. “What happened to your arm?”

“Heh,” he finally laughed. “Thought you’d never ask!”

Joey immediately groaned. “No. D _on’t_ , if you say _anything_ about it, I’m leaving you here, and never coming back.”

“The _ghost_!” he whispered with a manic delight and crouched down close to Yugi’s blanched face. “It came up behind me! Like a great shadow! Pushed me down the stairs! Tried to break _all_ my old bones!”

Yugi was horrified, but Joey was clearly used to this. “Save it for the pub,” he pleaded before trying to reassure Yugi. “Listen— he’s full of shit, he knows I hate his ghost stories. He’s just a superstitious old sailor,” and more loudly, “and he doesn’t want to admit he’s getting too old for this!”

“I’ve been too old for this shit a long time, you fuckin’ brat. And better he knows what’s waitin’ for him!”

Joey ignored him and kept talking to Yugi. “I hate to do this, but with that busted arm he’ll have to see the doctor back in town. There’s gotta be someone manning the lighthouse though. If we get you set up, you should be able to handle it, and I’ll come back with someone else later in the week.”

Yugi wanted to say no. Come up with any reason not to stay. But both Joey and the old man were looking at him expectantly, so he took the path of least resistance and said an uncertain, “Sure. A few days should be okay.”

It made Herb wheeze with laughter, and he seemed to reconsider his first impressions of Yugi. Mistook Yugi’s agreement for courage. “The punk’s got more guts than you.”

“Don’t insult the pilot! Come on, Yugi, help me with the cargo. It’s all gotta get up to the house.”

*

It was an exhausting afternoon. Physically and mentally. They started with climbing up and down the steep stairs that ran from the shore to the top of the cliff above, hauling not just Yugi’s belongings, but boxes full of tinned and dried foods, fuel for cooking, as well as restocking maintenance and emergency supplies.

Nearly everything went into a small outbuilding, what used to be a fuel house now converted into very modest living quarters. It was hardly bigger than the apartment Yugi had left behind. But Herb was insistent that he stay there, and not in the actual keepers’ quarters situated at the foot of the lighthouse.

When Yugi asked why not, Joey balked.

“I swear to god, Herb, if you say it—”

“Don’t want to live with _a ghost_ now, do you boy?”

Yugi didn’t, no, so he busied himself with stacking away a frankly shocking amount of canned pineapple and more tinned tuna than he’d ever eaten in his life. When he jumbled things around trying to make space for some of his own belongings, he found a few liquor bottles tucked in the back of a closet.

“Ah! You found my stash!” The old man waved some kind of salute at it. “But you can keep it. You’ll need it more than me.”

“That stuff you brewed last year?” Joey asked, taking the bottle from Yugi. He held it up to the light to look through the murky glass. “Trust me, Yugi, you’d sooner drink rat piss.”

Herb guffawed and snatched the bottle away to tuck it back into the closet. He gave Yugi a disconcerting wink. “Sooner than you think.”

Yugi wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or cry. He was terribly curious about the things both Joey and this old man kept alluding to, but he was also trying to convince himself that ignorance might bring bliss. Fortunately, Joey was having none of it.

“Cut it out, Herb. Stop trying to freak him out, or did you change your mind? I’ll tell them you decided to stay longer.”

The old man scoffed, but let it go. “Fine then, let’s head up,” he ordered.

Yugi was led over the grassy knolls to the lighthouse itself. Constructed out of limestone, and more recently reinforced with concrete, it towered over them, while the bluff plunged into the ocean far below. Herb heaved open the heavy metal door, and motioned the two younger men in ahead of him. A spiral staircase took them all the way to the watch room near the top. There was a simple electrical control panel, a few tiny windows facing out to every direction, and above them, in the lightroom, was the massive beacon, connected to a battery and a diesel generator. It sat heavy and still as it glinted in the afternoon sun.

It was simple enough to operate, but Herb pulled out a few technical manuals from a dusty bookshelf. “If it stops workin’, you’ll want these. Spare parts are downstairs.” As Yugi examined the handful of reference book titles, Herb continued with his instructions:

“While you’re here, your number one job is never let the light stop durin’ darkness, and never let it shine in daylight. If a ship sees either of those, it means some sort of emergency at the light. They’ll come in and check or radio for help.”

Yugi ran a hand over the panel of buttons and switches. “I was reading on my way here— aren’t these usually automatic these days?”

Herb leered at him. “It would probably make all our lives easier. But it’ll never happen here. This entire area is a shadow zone.”

Yugi looked to Joey, expecting him to berate the man, but he just nodded, like it was a fact. “There’s no signals here. The shortwave will work, but that’s about it. No mobile, no GPS, nothing. That’s why it’s so important for someone to maintain the place. It’s dangerous to navigate.”

“But why’s it like that?”

Yugi was asking simple enough questions, practical things in his mind, but it was impossible to know what would trigger that wild gleam in Herb’s eye. Joey did though, and this time cut Herb off before he could speak.

“There’s tons of iron ore deposits around here. Messes with the instruments. There’s enough boat traffic that they can’t decommission this lighthouse without risking a lot of accidents, and Mr. Crawford refuses to let the coast guard take it over. It’s kind of been a hot topic back in town for a while, lawyers and shit. Anyway, it belongs to Mr. Crawford for now, but he’s had a tough time keeping it staffed.”

“Lucky for you, eh boy?” Herb was grinning at Yugi, like he was the unluckiest sap he’d ever had the misfortune of encountering.

Yugi wished this dark taunting would stop already.

But they were far from finished - there was more than just the light he’d have to watch. “The fog horn,” Herb said, pointing out the window to a small outbuilding at the edge of the cliff. “If you can’t see the shore, you turn it on with this switch.”

Yugi peeked out the window. The shore was clearly in view.

“How often does that happen?” he asked.

Joey and the old man exchanged a look, and Yugi felt certain he’d just asked a _stupid_ question. “We get over two hundred days of fog a year, so… a fair bit. It’ll burst your eardrums, so don’t go hangin’ around the horn when it’s runnin’.”

Then from the stack of manuals he pulled out a tattered logbook. “Can you write, boy?”

“Yes, Herb, pretty sure he can,” Joey gave a long-suffering sigh while Yugi nodded agreeably.

“Then you fill it out each day. Weather. Any maintenance. Any incidents.” There was a long row of identical, aged books along the bottom of the shelf. When he saw Yugi looking, he stopped him. “Don’t read those if you like sleepin’,” Herb advised as he placed the newest one on top of the control panel. “Make sure you do an entry tonight.”

And it went on. Herb was both convinced Yugi was a lost cause, but insistent on demonstrating everything to Yugi at least once for the sake of his own clear conscience. And everything came with a dire warning of how important it was he not be careless. The ship-to-shore radio, always tuned to the emergency channel. The pump for the well. How to keep the pipes from freezing. Working the generator that powered everything on the island. Checking the fuel levels. The first aid kit and emergency rescue supplies. Even the clothesline and the portable washing machine that connected to a sink faucet received a moment of instruction.

They passed a torn-up patch of dirt, and Yugi asked about it.

Herb snorted. “Last guy thought he’d try to grow a vegetable patch or somethin’. Idiot. Too many rocks and too much bird shit to get anythin’ to take.”

“I dunno, you gotta have some kind of hobby to keep sane here,” Joey disagreed.

“How well did that work out for him?” Herb said scornfully, and without waiting added, “Hobbies make you _soft_.”

Joey said nothing to that. “Bring anything to keep you busy, Yugi?”

He hadn’t really. “A puzzle and some games.” There was a horribly pitying look in both Herb and Joey’s eyes, for very different reasons Yugi suspected, but in his defense, he’d been expecting there’d at least be _one_ other person here.

Herb grumbled something under his breath, and shooed them along. “Hurry it up, we need to get goin’ soon.”

The last thing was the boathouse, where he showed Yugi how to fuel and start the little motorboat tied up inside.

When Yugi asked about crossing the strait to the village, Herb gave him a hard look. “There’s no one livin’ there these days. Mr. Crawford visits now and then, and you’d best avoid him. You’ll want to save your fuel for any rescues.” He tapped the cover of the only new thing Yugi had seen all afternoon: a thin pamphlet of this year’s tide tables. “Watch out for low tide.”

Yugi nodded, like it was obvious, but Herb shook his head again. “Old Slipher likes to rear up when the water’s low.”

“S-Slipher?” Yugi looked at Joey.

“A great red sea serp—”

Joey cuffed Herb around the ear. “The strait gets shallow, is all,” he said. “There’s a lot of rocks. Just red from the iron. You don’t want to accidentally wreck yourself out there, so just… you know what Yugi? Don’t go in the boat ‘til I come back. No one expects you to risk your life out there. If there’s an emergency, radio the coast guard for help. There’s usually a boat patrolling a little further out, and unlike my plane, bad weather won’t be so easy to stop them coming to you.”

That sounded like a good plan to Yugi, though he couldn’t help but hope that the days would pass uneventfully.

Joey ran a hand through his hair, fretting as he looked down at him. “I’ll do my best to be back before the weekend. Either with more hands, or to check up on you. Think you’ll be alright?”

Yugi had never dreaded someone leaving so much in his life. “Yeah, I think I’ve got this.” To Herb he added, “Thank you for showing me everything. I hope your arm gets better soon.”

Herb snorted dismissively, and Yugi thought maybe it was because he was embarrassed. But after a long, indecipherable look, he finally said, “I hope your jib stays full, boy,” before turning away and climbing into the plane. “Best we get goin’, kid. It’s startin’ to get mauzey out.”

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Joey snapped back, but he didn’t move, clearly as torn about leaving Yugi behind as Yugi was about staying. He shifted from foot to foot. “Be careful, okay? Keep your head on your shoulders. I don’t think I could live with myself if you ended up like any of the others.”

Yugi couldn’t bring himself to ask. He forced a smile instead. “It’s just a few days. I’ll be fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

"  _...The island was given to His Excellency the Earl of Crawford to be managed by Ronald Paynter, Esq and will add much to the importance of that part of his Lordship's property. The Legislature has provided a grant of money for the erection of this essential lighthouse, and the work will be commenced forthwith." _ ~ The Harbour Times, June 8, 1849

*

Yugi had never been alone like this before in his life. As the drum of propellers faded into the distance, the wind rose up to fill his ears instead, and he could hear nothing else beyond its steady howl.

What was he _doing here_?

Out of habit, he pulled out his phone. It was nearly dead and ‘searching…’ blinked futilely along the top bar. He turned it off. This was far beyond _remote_. This was total isolation. Total helplessness if anything happened. To him, or anyone out there calling for help. Why the _hell_ had they chosen _him_ to come out here? And not just dropping him here, but leaving him _alone_. This had to be a sick joke. Why would Mr. Crawford, or anyone for that matter, just _assume_ he could handle this? He’d never done anything like this in his life.

Joey was right. A city kid, indeed.

Yugi sank to a seat on the edge of the dock, hands in his hair, and took one steadying breath. A second. A third. Stared at the choppy waves, now grey instead of blue. Took one more breath.

He tried to think of the instructions he’d been given. The work wasn’t complex, but Herb had been so full of allusions to every possible way things could go wrong Yugi couldn’t help but worry he’d screw it up somehow. That the light would go out, and someone would crash on the rocks, and it’d be  _his fault._

No. Herb had shown Yugi exactly how to work the equipment, what to watch for. All he had to do was turn on the beacon in a few hours.

Until then? Perhaps he’d feel better after a nap. He was drained already from the day, so much more active than his urban desk job. And he’d hardly slept the past few nights.

With one more heavy exhale, he stood to make his way up the stairs.

*

There was nothing inviting about the fuel-house-turned-dwelling. Even less so now that he was the only one standing in it. The air inside was musty, a pervasive salty damp, and its solitary window so grimy that daylight could hardly make it through. Yugi tugged the pull cord for the bare lightbulb in the ceiling and it lit up with a faint buzz.

There wasn’t much to the place: a makeshift kitchen, wooden table, solitary chair, and the bed shared the same cramped space, enclosed by grey cinder block walls. Drywall had only been put up to give the tiny bathroom some privacy. An electric heater and a small, dirty fridge were the only appliances aside from the portable washer crammed under the utility sink.

There was an outlet in the wall, over the square of countertop beside the sink, so he dug a cable out of his bag and plugged in his phone. It buzzed and lit up. What time would the sun set tonight? He wasn’t too sure, so set an alarm for his best guess.

He was then faced with the simple metal-framed bunk bed. Two beds, but only the lower bunk had a single vinyl-wrapped foam mattress, topped with a thin pillow and dirty, threadbare sheets. He wasn’t sure if the stain was mildew or something else. It was hard to imagine a big man like Herb sleeping on it.

If there had ever been a second person living here, there was no sign of where they might have slept.

Frankly, it was depressing. So far from what he’d been led to expect back in Domino. Things may have not been all that glamorous at home, but this… How could he live in this near squalor? For days? Weeks? How long had previous keepers lived like this?

As much as he wanted to sleep and at least temporarily escape this grim reality, he hesitated beside the dingy bed. He regretted not bringing his own bedding from home. There was at least a generous pile of blankets, roughly heaped on top of the single wooden chair. Yugi pulled out one that looked the least awful and wrapped it around himself like a shield before laying down on the bed. The metal frame squeaked uncomfortably beneath him.

And he quickly discovered that, for all his weariness, sleep would not be coming to him easily.

He stared at the concrete wall. The cobwebs in the corners. The dirt on every surface. The single lightbulb that he now couldn’t be bothered to get up and turn off.

He listened to the distant roar of the ocean. The wind beating against the door. His own pulse between his ears. The voice at the back of his mind crying at the horror of being completely and utterly _alone_ out here, on this little rock of an island.

*

There was no saying now long he lay there, but he must have fallen asleep, because his alarm blared and he woke with a jolt. He tumbled out of the bed, briefly disoriented. The light above him had gone out, and the room was dark. After stumbling over to his phone and silencing it, Yugi waved his hand around to catch the pull chain.

He clicked it twice, but the light didn’t come back on. A dead bulb. There was a box of replacements somewhere, but it’d have to wait. By the light of his phone he found his shoes and, on his way out the door, grabbed his only jacket from the coat hook.

It wasn’t just dark inside. Night was falling. A thin fog had started to roll in, a wet cloud that crawled over the island. The shore could still be seen through it. Clear enough that he didn’t have to turn on the fog horn yet. At least by Herb’s description.

He went up the slope, past the supposedly haunted keepers’ quarters along the way. It looked normal enough, a quaint home, several times larger than the fuel house, with a stone chimney and a door painted a bright red. But the big windows showed only darkness inside, and he didn’t have the courage to peek through them, after Herb’s warnings that it was haunted.

He instead made a wide circle around it.

The lighthouse door was heavier than Herb had made it seem, but Yugi pulled it open with only a minor struggle. It was dark inside, like all the other buildings, and he ran his hand along the limestone bricks, looking for the switch he’d seen earlier in the day.

He was so focused on the wall, he jumped when something crinkled underfoot.

The logbook was on the floor, open and facedown, some of its pages crumpled. Yugi glanced to the watch room high above, visible through its metal grate floor, where it was illuminated in a dim glow from the swiftly fading sunlight. Herb had definitely placed it on the control panel with instructions to fill it out tonight.

Yugi took a breath to calm himself, though his heart stuttered in his chest. A breeze had blown it down. Nothing else.

He picked it up, dusted it off, and tucked it under his arm. When he finally found the light switch, the fixtures sprang to life, bathing the inside of the tower in a dull yellow glow. Up the stairs he went, keeping close to the wall, away from the open edge of the steps that spiraled along the inside of the tower.

From the watch room he could see the sun vanishing behind the little houses across the Sound. Could see the red rocks exposed by the low tide. He pulled the window shut against the wind. Tried to ignore the impossible trajectory the book in his hand must have taken from the panel by the wall to the stairwell opening.

He looked uncertainly to the beacon in the lightroom above, and silently prayed it wouldn’t leave him in the dark.

*

The light came to life with soft hum, and with a gentle whir the mechanism supporting it began to spin smoothly. Yugi crawled up the last few steps to the lightroom to look at it. One bulb glowing, connected to four backups, connected to a battery, connected to the generator, which would kick on should the battery need a charge. Plenty of redundancies, for such a simple thing.

It spun around, a steady five-second cycle, and he wondered if there was anyone out at sea watching it blink with him. Someone else drifting in the island of their boat, taking heart in a single, cautionary beam of light. He hadn’t spotted any ships during the day, but the light reached further than he could see, and the thought of even one person out there looking at it made him feel a little less alone.

After a few moments he decided that everything seemed fine. It needed no further encouragement from him, so he turned around to return to the watch room below.

As his foot set on the first step, he froze.

A shadow had wound swiftly and silently down the stairwell ahead of him.

A few seconds later, it happened again. A sigh of relief left him with a shudder. It was his own shadow, thrown by the spinning light above.

He supposed he could go back to the fuel house to sleep again, but the thought of walking across the rocky path in the night made him uneasy. The swooping shadow the beacon had cast had put him on edge. He had nothing but a little phone screen and the spinning spotlight to guide him. It seemed better to stay in here, with the lamp above. Close by. In case anything happened.

There was also the logbook to fill out. He perched on the tall, heavy stool beside the control panel, grabbed a ballpoint pen from its place between the buttons, and flipped open the journal.

It fell open easily to a blank page. He backtracked a few, until he spotted the last entry. Not so much an entry, as a large ‘X’ through the page. No date, no words. Yugi stared at it, wondering what it meant. When he flipped back more, each page was crossed out. Had Herb just been counting the days? He remembered his question about writing, and with a small amount of shame realised the old man might not be able to. Yugi kept flipping back, and thirteen X’s later, there were words.

_ July 28. Fog. _

_ July 27 _ .  _Fog. Still digging._

_ July 26. Rain. Still digging. _

The short entries went back through the month, until finally there was something more:

_ July 1. Sunny. All I hear is that shovel banging on the rocks day and night. He hardly stops. It’s driving me crazy. _

_ June 30. Cloudy. Ches says he’s gotta hide the money. No clue what he’s talking about but he’s started trying to dig a hole in the rocks. _

_ June 29. Clear. Supply drop. Wheeler should have taken Ches back with him. He’s gone sick in the head since staying in the house. _

_ June 28. Rain. Water came through the roof. Tried to patch it but Ches is staying in the main quarters tonight. Idiot. He talked about leaving again, as if he’s got anywhere else to go. _

Yugi slapped the book shut. Was that pounding in his ears, or the chink of a shovel against the rocks—

No. There was silence. He was alone. Nothing but nerves. He looked to the radio, the number 16 for the coast guard blinked back. The channel was silent, as it often was, but he could call for help, if he needed it. Did being _totally alone_ count as an emergency?

_ Calm down _ , he told himself. _You’re only alone until Joey comes back with more help._ He tried to let the radio be reassuring, a lifeline to some capable and qualified assistance, and he staunchly opened the book to the most recent blank page, carefully avoiding even touching the pages of any earlier entries. He wrote in today’s date:

_ August 12. Sunny. _

Yugi paused in thought, then added:

_ Herb was here for two weeks. Broke his arm in a fall, but he’s ok and left with Joey. My name is Yugi Mutou, and I am the new Lighthouse Keeper at Crawford Sound _ . _I’m here alone._

The final addition was meant to be a reassurance in light of the earlier entries, but he realized it sounded a bit dire. It’d look worse if he crossed it out. God, he should have written nothing but the weather. To try and make up for it he finished it off with _Fresh supplies! Lots of pineapple and tuna. No maintenance. No incidents._ He left the pen as a bookmark and placed it back on the shelf, in with the manuals so it wouldn’t blow away again.

Then he settled down on the hard grate floor, back against the stone wall, stool on one side and the control panel on his other, like sentries, with the spinning beacon above watching over him.

He crossed his arms tightly around himself, and waited for dawn.

*

Yugi dozed in fits and bursts, nothing that could properly be called sleep. Sometime around five he figured it was bright enough to justify turning off the light. He scrubbed at his eyes, stretched, and headed for the fuel house.

On the way, he couldn’t help but look at that torn patch of ground. What Joey and others had kept referring to as a _garden_. Had anyone even read the logbook? It sounded more like the previous keeper had snapped. What exactly had happened before? He hurried past, kept an even wider berth from the keeper’s quarters, and went into the fuel house.

There was a dull ache behind his eyes, but the bed with gross sheets was anything but inviting.

He could stay awake a little longer. He filled and plugged in the little electric kettle, and dug a packet of instant oats out of a cupboard. And while it was heating up, he hooked up the little washing machine to the sink. It had enough room for two sheets so he let it churn away as he swapped the kettle to plug in his phone. What a hassle this was going to be. He needed an extension cord, at the very least.

Yugi ate his breakfast outside, sitting on a boulder that overlooked the Sound. Low tide was back, and the rocks were exposed once again, ominously red in the daylight. The waves made an eerie hiss against them, and some rocks, still partially submerged, shimmered under the ebb and flow of the water. He could see how someone might think it was a sea serpent. He watched it for a while, enjoying the white clouds drifting overhead. It was certainly a beautiful place. But stark. Lonely.

His mind turned to the burned-out bulb. The wind knocking down books. The startling shadow in the stairs. It gave him a second wave of energy. He couldn’t sleep yet. There were some things that he needed to do _now_. Before nightfall came again.

The boxes Joey had unloaded the day before were in no particular order, heaped in with older bins of supplies that neither Herb nor anyone else had bothered to organize. It took some digging, but he found what he was looking for: a new bulb for the ceiling light and a small flashlight with fresh batteries. He wanted to unpack properly, but the place was so _dirty_. So he swept the floors and wiped every grimy surface, and unpacked a few of his own things. In the tiny little bathroom, once it was bearable, he put away his toothbrush.

Even after all that, it was a dismal home.

But by this point Yugi thought he was going to fall asleep leaning on the broom. So he took the sheets outside to dry on the line, and only then, unable to wait another minute, cocooned himself once again in the only clean blanket and collapsed on the bare mattress.

*

Yugi woke up to someone tapping on the window.

He dumbly wondered for a moment why they weren’t at the door, and then woke up enough to remember _there was no one else here_. He lay for a moment with the blanket protectively over him, mind racing with confused and formless thoughts, listening to the light _thwap thwap_ on the glass. It would fade out for a moment, and then tap again.

He didn’t dare move, silently hoped it would just _go away_. But time didn’t seem to matter. Whatever it was didn’t stop.

The agony of listening eventually overtook him. He rolled over, achingly slow, and saw something _gray_ on the other side of the window. He thought he might throw up, or his heart might explode. Couldn’t stop staring at it. Couldn’t make sense of what it was.

Until it clicked. The sheets. The _goddamn sheets._ With his heart still racing, he pulled himself out of the bed and through the door. One of them had come off the clothesline, caught on a twiggy bush, and now was flapping in the wind, slapping against the window. He must not have pegged it properly to the line. With shaking hands he untangled it.

It was not a restful way to end a scant 4 hours of sleep. Now he just felt slightly less tired and doubly more wound up after was what decidedly the worst wakeup call of his life.

But he was _definitely_ awake, and unlikely to fall back asleep anytime soon. Too blustery now to comfortably sit outside, and feeling claustrophobic in the fuel house, he headed for the lighthouse.

He scaled the stairs and took the little door from the lightroom to the gallery deck that wrapped around the outside of the tower.

It was even windier than down below, but the view was something else. He leaned against the guard rail and took it in. The ocean seemed infinite. Way out towards the horizon he thought he could see a boat, probably a big oil tanker, though it was hardly a smudge of gray from this distance. He watched it fade away. Wished for some other boat to pass closer, to keep him company.

He’d never been a very social person, but now he couldn’t help but think of hugs from his mother. Card games with Grandpa. Arcades with Anzu. Polite interactions with cashiers at the grocery store. The press of people on the subway. It hadn’t been much, but it had been something.

The loneliness he’d felt back in Domino was here, and there were no distractions from it anymore.

This solidarity with boats on the horizon was all he had now. It was okay, maybe, he tried to convince himself. He could watch them by day, warn them away by night. Until Mr. Crawford found someone else to come here.

It had been silly to dream of _adventure_. To think he’d find something of himself way out here. He would go home in a week or so, and this would all be nothing but a brief and bizarre chapter in his life.

_ What ifs  _ and _if onlys_ occupied his thoughts until the sun was low behind him. He shook himself back to the present, to face his current reality. He needed to eat something before lighting the beacon for the night.

He turned towards the door, but a movement on the ground below caught his eye.

A figure was walking away from the lighthouse towards the house. Yugi’s breath caught in his throat. A chill seized his heart. But he blinked— and it was gone.

Yugi’s hand on the door handle was shaking, a bead of sweat running down his neck, head still turned towards the ground. To the now vacant spot along the path. He hadn’t gotten a good look. Only a fleeting glimpse. It could have been nothing.

But no. He’d seen something. And whatever he’d seen had spiked hair like his own.

Suddenly the thought of being totally alone was _so much better_ than whatever the hell the other option was.

*

Yugi thought about straight up hiding in the tower until Joey came back. Barricading the door and waiting this out. But he was moved to action by necessity. He was thirsty. Hungry. Needed a piss. Wanted the flashlight and a blanket for an inevitably anxious vigil through the night.

He cautiously peeked out the door of the lighthouse, eyes peeled for a sign of _anything_. But there was nothing. He tiptoed over the grass, trying to be silent, to not trip on any rocks. His heart leapt into his throat every time he heard a gull cry, quivered as the wind whined, but he made it without any incident.

He grabbed what he wanted and with his arms full, hurried back to the sanctuary of the lighthouse.

That night, once the beacon was again shining, he filled out his entry for the day:

_ August 13. Partially cloudy, windy. No maintenance. _

And with a trembling hand, he added a simple note with no elaboration:  _Incidents: 1._

*

When his phone chimed a good morning alarm at sunrise Yugi could feel something different in the air. He didn’t know what it was until he looked out the watch room window and saw nothing but white. A close, dense fog encased him. Nothing existed beyond the tower. Even the breaking waves at the foot of the cliff sounded muffled.

He turned off the beacon, and pushed the button for the fog horn.

There was a moment of silence and—

A boom sounded, a single low note, yawning out into the white nothing. So loud and deep it rattled the glass panes of the windows. Shook his very bones.

It would run for an hour, blaring every five minutes. Up here in the tower, with the horn just below, it was deafening. The next best place to wait it out would be the fuel house, at least a little further away from the deep bellow of the horn. He gathered up his phone and his flashlight. The blanket would stay for when he’d return that night.

Outside the tower, the fog was so thick he could only see the hazy shape of the keepers’ quarters. Couldn’t even make out the fuel house beyond it. He still made a wide circle around the house as he walked.

But not far enough apparently.

A tingle ran up his spine.

Like there was someone watching him.

Yugi was torn between complete denial and screaming, as though his voice might clear the air. He didn’t think he could find his voice if he’d tried, so he quickened his steps instead. Refused to look back. Had no idea if there was anything tailing behind.

Once in the fuel house he bolted the door.

Any appetite he might have had for breakfast was gone, but he boiled the kettle. Needed something to occupy his hands, and mind.

After he’d drained two scalding cups of tea, he started looking for another distraction. He dug out a ziplock bag full of jigsaw pieces. The table in here would be far too small for the whole thing, but it was better than nothing. He kept the bag in his lap, sifting through the pieces, and managed to assemble a patch before he had to go back to the tower to restart the horn.

Twice in fact, before the fog lifted. Two heart-stopping yet entirely uneventful treks back and forth.

Maybe it had just been the fog. He'd never seen it this thick before. A trick of the mind.

The memory of that figure from before wouldn't leave him though.

A can of soup, heated in a small saucepan on the single burner hot-plate, was absently eaten at the table. The puzzle was a good distraction, and he’d made decent progress. As the morning went on, it calmed him. And when he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, he crawled into the bed, pulling the clean sheets and a heavy quilt tight around him.

*

A clatter woke him, instead of his alarm. The wooden chair at the table had fallen over, the bag of puzzle pieces spilled all over the floor.

He stared, filled with a sudden nausea, trying not to imagine what Herb or Joey would say about this. Things falling over on their own. But nothing else moved, and he slowly peeled himself out of the bed, and moved to set the chair upright.

As he did so, he caught sight of the puzzle. A sizable gap had been filled in as he slept.

*

_ August 14. Fog. No maintenance. Incidents – 20 _

_ August 15. Rain. The fog horn kept turning on, just for a few minutes at a time. Checked the compressor and the wiring I could reach. It seemed ok after the rain stopped. Will ask for an electrician when Joey comes back. Incidents – 6? _

_ August 16. Overcast and windy. No maintenance. Joey said he’d come back in a few days with someone else, but he hasn’t come yet. Incidents – 3 _

_ August 17. Overcast, very heavy winds. No maintenance. Incidents – 2. I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait for Joey. _

*

It’d been a week. The longest week of his life, and Yugi’s nerves were raw. He rarely managed more than a few hours of fitful sleep. A perpetual dampness seemed to have permeated every piece of clothing he owned and settled deep in his body. And it was always gray. The blue skies when he’d arrived started to seem like a fluke.

But worse than that, he was also feeling increasingly desperate to be _actually alone_.

As the days went on, though he never spotted the cloaked figure again, he was more and more certain that something was always lingering nearby, just at the corner of his vision. He would put something down, and find it elsewhere later. Things were knocked about. He’d hear a clap or a stomp, sudden noises in a silent room.

Worse was when his shadow would twist in a way he didn’t expect. Or when a cold air would wash over him, like he’d walked under a waterfall.

He tried to ignore it all, but Yugi was fairly convinced he was going to lose his mind before Joey ever came back.

But today was finally clear again, the sun bright and warm, and the winds gentle, and he busied himself with airing out some of the musty blankets on the clothesline.

His hands stilled as he heard the sound of something coming from over the waves. With a rush of relief he recognized it as the beating of propellers. He spun around to see the wings of a white seaplane approaching, coming in low for a smooth landing on the water.

Yugi bolted for the boathouse, a near-hysterical laugh the first noise to leave his mouth in days.

He was at the edge of the dock, nearly bouncing, as the plane puttered up. Waved his whole arm in greeting, and saw Joey flash a small wave back from the cockpit – and then he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. There was no one else in the plane.

Joey had come alone.

Yugi gaped, abject hopelessness swallowing him up, as Joey jumped out of the aircraft.

“You’re still in one piece!” Joey observed sunnily. “Sorry it took a few extra days, I was trying to find someone to—"

Yugi burst into tears. Didn’t even have anything left in him to feel embarrassed about it as Joey panicked.

“Dude! What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

That was the worst part. He couldn’t say anything really had happened. There’d been no storms, or accidents, or major trouble of any sort.

But the thought of more time on this island, alone but _not alone_ was more than he could bear.

“There’s something—” Yugi started, and stopped just as abruptly as he felt a prickle down his neck, like he was being watched. He didn’t want to acknowledge its existence. Not if it was listening. Especially not if he was going to be here alone for even longer. He swallowed the words, tried to wet his dry mouth. “I’m just glad to see you.”

*

Joey regretfully told Yugi he hadn’t been able to convince anyone from town to volunteer to work the lighthouse. It’d been a long shot, he’d explained. The Crawford family had been burning bridges for decades, and no one was willing to do any favours, even if it was Joey asking. Herb had only done it for the sake of sailors at sea, but no one else had the willingness or the grit. And when he’d called the company to see if there’d been any progress in hiring someone, he’d just been told there was no update, in about as many words.

“I brought you some stuff I thought you might need!” Joey said, somewhere between his usual boisterous enthusiasm, and awkwardly aware of the unwelcome situation Yugi had found himself in. “Here, take this one.” He passed Yugi a cardboard box, not too heavy, and grabbed a second bigger one himself. “I’ll stay a little while, let’s head up!”

In the fuel house, Joey let out a whistle, impressed. “You’ve done a good job cleaning this up!” He placed his box on the table and opened it immediately. “Let’s see…” He pulled out a jumbled assortment of things. “Okay, so this one has snacks! And I brought you a burger from the pub! It’s a little cold now, but I thought you might be getting tired of canned stuff. Oh, so here’s a CD player and some music… sorry, it’s just a few weird mixes from the store. Even Bluetooth goes on the fritz out here, so it’s a little old school. And Arthur has no idea about music, he hasn’t stocked anything new in a decade—"

He’d also brought Yugi some heavy rain gear: a sou’wester hat, coat and pants, all bright yellow, and Joey swore it was the smallest size he could find as Yugi held them up. A battery-powered lantern, rainboots, and some wool socks were also part of the practical things. But then there was still the other box: a stack of the past week's local newspapers, a ginormous book of crossword puzzles, and two jigsaw puzzles: one of scenic harbour views, and the other of a little airplane.

Yugi thought he might start crying again.

Joey kept trying to apologize. “I don’t know if any of this is your sort of thing, but—”

“No, this is amazing.” Yugi sniffed and wiped at his eyes. This was more thoughtful than he’d ever expected someone to be, especially a near-stranger. “I’ll pay you back—”

“Don’t you dare! I invoiced Mr. Crawford for it all,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Besides, you’re the one stuck out here!” Joey poked around the room, making himself at home by plugging in the kettle and searching for the jar of instant coffee. “You gotta tell me, how was the week?”

Yugi sat on the edge of the bed, trying to think of what to say.

The silence dragged on a little too long. “That rough, eh?” Joey looked at Yugi closely. “What did you—”

“Joey,” Yugi cut him off. “I need to ask you something.” He looked him in the eye, felt his palms turn clammy, not sure if he really wanted to ask. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to do so the last time he’d seen Joey. But after the past week, he didn’t think he could go another day without knowing. “What happened to the guys before me?”

Joey went pale. “Someone must have already told you.”

“Told me what?”

Joey looked uncomfortable, mouth drawn into a thin line, like he _really_ didn't want to be the one to tell this story. “I mean, no one’s too sure what exactly happened. Crawford had two guys out here, Ralph and Chester. Honestly, I don’t know where he got them, felons or something. But they worked here for over a year. Didn’t really seem like they got along too well, but they did well enough.”

Yugi held back all of his questions. Listened patiently as Joey struggled.

“A few months ago when I came by there’d been a storm, I helped fix the roof here. Just me and Ralph. Chester was in a mood, or something. They weren’t talking. I thought they’d figure it out, whatever was going on.” He busied himself with scooping coffee into two mismatched mugs. The spoon in his hand rattled against the ceramic. He dropped it and clenched his shaking hands into fists. “The night before my next run, the coast guard had to come out because the light wasn’t on. Chester was dead. We think Ralph beat his head in with a shovel. And Ralph was… well, he set himself on fire.”

Yugi felt like he was frozen from the inside out. Joey wasn’t looking at him. There was a tense quiet, until the kettle started to scream. Joey yanked the plug out of the wall to silence it.

All that had happened just a few weeks ago? The right words didn’t seem to exist for this kind of revelation, and Yugi struggled to find something to say. “That’s awful.”

Joey shook his head, in a grave sort of agreement. “Accidents happen in these parts all the time, and I guess even worse things when someone’s out here too long.” He handed a mug to Yugi, then quietly went on. “It’s better not to think about it too much. Just be grateful for good times while you have them.”

It was easy to tell that Joey wanted to drop the subject, and Yugi thought it might be the kinder thing to do. But now that they were talking, safe indoors with the company of another person, and no sensation of a lurking eavesdropper, he had to ask it.

“Does Herb think one of those guys turned into a ghost?”

Joey spat out his coffee. “What? No,” he said once he’d recovered. “People have been talking about this place being haunted since even before the lighthouse was built. Tons of old shipwrecks and drownings out here. Why? Did you see something? No. Forget it, I don’t want to know. Geez, where’d you put the sugar? This stuff is disgusting.” Joey turned away and started to loudly knock around things in the cupboard.

Yugi didn’t want to antagonize the closest thing he had to a friend out here, so he didn’t ask anything more. He picked up the stack of CD cases to see what he’d be listening to.

“Dance Hits 2000?” Yugi groaned, and Joey laughed, and the tension rolled away.

*

Joey’s company filled the island, and Yugi was able to forget for a short time how it felt to be alone here. The sun was bright, it burned off the damp that had been clinging to him for days, and it was amazing how being warm and dry and in the company of another person raised his spirits.

Joey rambled at length about the people in Hawkins Harbour, all their comings and goings, as though Yugi knew exactly who they all were. And honestly the more he talked, the more Yugi could imagine that little town, tiny but thriving, and all the faces of the people who lived there. His sister, Serenity, who’d just become an instructor at the sailing school. His best friend Honda, who worked for the coast guard. Arthur Hawkins, who ran the general store. Mai, who owned the only pub in town.

As they talked of lighter things, they walked all over the island. And though Yugi never mentioned anything, he felt better visiting all the little spots that had previously been the sight of some flickering illusion or chilling movement. Like shining a flashlight at a monster under a bed to reveal nothing had been there all along. A tragedy had happened with the previous keepers, certainly, but that was just the darkness of some people’s hearts, confined for too long. There was nothing inherently sinister here.

But Joey’s visit was only a temporary reprieve. When clouds started to gather and the sun was dipping towards the hills behind Crawford Sound, he announced he had to get going, and Yugi’s heart sank.

Joey was still regretful when he explained he wouldn’t be back before the next supply run at the end of the month. It was tourist season, and he couldn’t afford to turn down the business to take a personal trip out to the Sound. But Yugi forced a smile, waved away his concern. He’d gotten through a whole week, far more than he’d ever expected was possible on that first day standing on the dock.

Maybe he was a little tougher than he’d thought.

And maybe he could bear this a little longer.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to worry about me. You can tell Herb he taught me well!”

Joey laughed, and promised to let him know. “It’ll go straight to his head, but he’ll be glad to know you’re doing okay.”

Okay was maybe not quite the word for it, but he felt so much better after an afternoon of chatter and company it was easy to be optimistic. Aside from the obvious request for Joey to return with another keeper, Yugi also asked for an electrician to check out the wiring on the fog horn. Joey was fairly dismissive of the latter, saying it was just old and ought to be fully replaced, but agreed to pass on the request.

As he climbed into the cockpit, Joey’s parting words turned cautionary: “The forecast is calling for some weather, so make sure you don’t leave anything out.”

“I should be fine with the raingear you brought! Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

Joey gave him a thumbs up, and any further conversation was impossible over the starting engine.

Yugi waved until the plane was out of sight.

And just when it had faded into the clouds, the foghorn blared all on its own.

*

All the good of the afternoon was instantly undone within him. His heart was again beating tersely against his ribs, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. What had he been _thinking_? Another two weeks of this?

The horn had stopped by the time Yugi made it to the tower, but he checked the compressor anyway. He may have asked Joey to bring an electrician, but as he once again checked the wires that travelled from the little outbuilding that housed the horn back to the lighthouse, he was more than suspicious there was nothing actually wrong with it.

And as he worked, there was once again the unsettling sensation of being watched. Goosebumps prickled down his arms, but he tried to speak reassuringly to himself.

“Ok. It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said, then spun on his heel to go back to the fuel house. The blankets he’d abandoned earlier still needed to be collected.

They’d come off the clothesline at some point during the day. Were scattered in the thorny bushes and the dirt, and Yugi stared at the disarray, almost numb to it. Resigned to whatever was happening. Blown off the line. Thrown off. What difference did it make? Whatever was here on the island probably existed to _pester_ people into losing their mind.

He made a face as he set about shaking out each one, trying to also shake off the feeling of the presence nearby.

“Why are you _doing_ this to me,” he grumbled, acknowledging it for the first time.

He regretted it immediately. There was no reply, of course, but it seemed to take his words as an invitation. Came up beside him. Right behind his shoulder. Close enough to  _touch._

Yugi wanted to scream. Or puke. Or faint. But he bit his tongue and fled into the fuel house.

It didn’t seem to have followed, but inside didn’t feel any safer than outside. He paced the room nervously, until he could think.

The afternoon had been a break, but there was no ignoring this. This slow, sinking madness. And he couldn’t just hide here. There was no hiding from whatever drifted in the air, unimpeded by walls.

And he couldn’t do _nothing_. The sun was setting. He had to go back out and start the beacon.

Yugi let out a tense breath and grabbed his coat, lantern, and some of the leftover burger Joey had brought. He opened the door slowly, making sure there was nothing to see.

But as he stepped through the door, he walked _through_ something cold.

Nausea and a headache, like he’d just dunked his head underwater, passed over him.

He grit his teeth and hurried on, trying to stare only ahead to where he was going. Along the path, past the house, and up to the lighthouse.

Inside, he shut the door quickly, bolting it behind him, and flicked on the yellow lights before heading up the stairs towards the watch room.

But it was beside him the whole time. He was certain of it.

It stayed all night, until a blood-red dawn arrived.


	3. Chapter 3

_ “The mayor’s office has announced that no inquest will be held into the disappearance of Ronald Paynter. The esquire was in his fifth year of service at the Crawford Sound lighthouse and is believed to have drowned after his boat capsized during a crossing of the strait to the mainland. The accident was not witnessed by anyone, and the community continues to watch the shore for the body.”  _ ~ The Harbour Times, August 30 th , 1855

*

Dawn did not provide any relief. Yugi waited tensely through the long hours of the night for the ghost to _do something_.

Yet it did nothing. It remained hidden the entire time, a prickle of sharp cold in the wall behind him. Yugi hadn’t dared to move and had absolutely no intention of ever speaking around it again, but over the hours his jittery fear had no choice but to wane to a steady disquiet.

Now the sky was blooming into colour, all deep reds and purples, and he had to move. Yugi stiffly unfolded himself from his cramped seat on the metal floor and turned off the beacon.

The ghost remained an invisible presence against the wall.

Feeling like a freed prisoner, Yugi quickly gathered up his things and booked it down the stairs. Prayed it would stay where it was, stay away long enough that he might sleep.

The air outside the tower was humid against his face as he hurried outside. As he trotted across the knotted grass and rocks towards the fuel house, Yugi’s steps slowed, and then stopped when he noticed something unusual.

There was no wind. A hush had fallen over the island. Even the water in the rocky shallows of the Sound seemed calm this morning. He spun in a slow circle, taking it in.

_ Huh _ , he thought. Maybe Joey had been wrong and it would be a nice day again.

But Yugi quickly abandoned the train of thought, no intention of staying up to enjoy it. He’d hardly slept in days. Hadn’t dared close his eyes all night. He threw open the door to the fuel house, bolted it shut behind him as he kicked off his shoes, and collapsed face-down on the bed.

*

Yugi slept so deeply that he didn’t wake up until the first boom of thunder, close enough to shake the very foundation of the building.

The clouds were so black it could have been night. The wind had returned, a steadily-building shriek against the walls, clattering the window panes, tearing at the shingled roof. Yugi rolled over to look at the ceiling, immediately wondering how good a repair job Joey had done. It sounded like it might blow right off.

The rain started shortly after with a brutal fervour.

The cinder block walls were the only thing between him and the storm. He stared at the walls, and the windows, and the ceiling in worry. He didn’t know what to do. Was there anything _to_ do, except hide here and wait it out? Fretfully, he changed into warmer clothes, pulling on one of those new pairs of heavy woolen socks.

The overhead light died with a flash of lightning, and Yugi quickly turned on the little lantern. More bolts of light illuminated the room, and the wind continued to pitch higher and louder. It wouldn’t be just the roof but the whole damn building that might blow away at this rate.

And then the question of Joey’s repair job was answered: water started coming through. And Yugi stared at the ceiling, dismayed, for a solid minute before scrambling for a bucket. The pot was at hand, and he placed it under the dribble of water.

He crouched in the middle of the room, watching it slowly fill with a vague sense of horror. Listened to the rain wash over the roof in sheets. Oh god, what if the roof collapsed on him? What if it flooded and washed away in the rain?

It felt like the walls were closing in.

Back to the lighthouse it was. It was bigger. Sturdier. Had weathered many storms. Yugi pulled on the yellow rain gear he’d been gifted, stuffed the pockets with food, grabbed the lantern, and opened the door.

A gust of wind ripped the handle right out of his hand. With a crack the door was flattened out, open against the side of the house. Sleet pelted horizontally into the open doorway. The wind almost snatched the lantern from his unsuspecting grip too. Yugi tried for a moment to wrestle the door back, but it was pinned down by the wind.

He gave up, and as he turned away into the storm, realized that this was a terrible idea.

The rain was coming down in sheets so thick and relentless there were already puddles over his ankles. The hysterical wind might just carry him away, blow him over the cliffs into that dark, frothing, swollen sea. He couldn’t see further ahead than the one foot he placed in front of the other in the direction of the lighthouse. But ahead he went, and by the time he made it to the door of the tower he felt like he’d been in the storm for hours, rather than minutes.

The metal door was nearly impossible to open, stuck, held down by the wind. His rubber boots slipped in the mud, but he propped a foot on the slick white wall of the tower, heaved with every ounce of his strength. It came open just enough for him to slip indoors, and slammed shut behind him.

Yugi stood, dripping and panting, totally brutalized by that brief trek. And now that he was here, he was not so certain that the lighthouse was any better than what he’d just left. Its walls groaned and shifted in the wind. Rain was coming in, from some open windows upstairs.

And he may have wanted better shelter from the storm, but now he was here with _the ghost._ And it was _here_. Beside him again, invisible and colder than even the wind and the rain and the damp.

He ignored it. The stairs were slick and wet, and he went up them, careful not to slip. He started up the foghorn and then went around closing all the little windows in the watch room, and then the ones in the lightroom above. The glass panes rattled furiously once closed, but they had been open for too long – the blanket he’d left up here was soaked through, as was the logbook. Grimacing, he hung the blanket over a guardrail and shook out the damp paper.

And with nothing else to do, and hunger gnawing at him, he ate a miserable meal of dry ramen noodles.

The thunder boomed above him, and the foghorn bellowed below, and the ghost sat, silent and watchful, at his side.

*

The storm didn’t get better.

It got darker and stronger. Every few moments the air charged with static as lightning struck the weathervane at the top of the lighthouse. Waves were crashing so high against the bluff it could have been sea water and not just rain pelting against the windows. The tower could just as well be swept into sea, or set on fire. Yugi _almost_ considered retreating back to the fuel house with its leaky roof and broken door.

But then everything was made infinitely worse: the radio, silent for so many days, crackled to life.

“ _Coast guard, Mayday - Mayday - Mayday. This is sailing vessel Heavenly Sound III - Heavenly Sound III - Heavenly Sound III. We have no navigation, DSC not transmitting. We’re grounded and taking on water. We need rescue. Over.”_

Yugi stared at it, wide-eyed. A distress call. In this storm. Herb had shown him how to work the radio, had explained how to call for help. But now, as Yugi listened to that pleading voice, he was caught in the futility of not knowing how to _offer_ help. What to do if _someone else_ was calling. And he had never even thought to ask Herb, just mutely accepted the reassurance that the coast guard would swoop in to help.

The wait for the coast guard’s response dragged on, and Yugi forgot to breathe.

And it was too long for _Heavenly Sound III_ , apparently. The boat started it’s call again, the voice on the line now pitched with panic. “ _Mayday, mayday—”_

Was the coast guard boat out of range? Yugi scrambled for the manuals, searching for anything that might guide him. What to say. What to do.

_ “—we need rescue. Over _ .”

There was nothing useful on the shelf. What was he supposed to _do_? Even if they were close by, how could he _help_?

But if he did nothing, left that person to think they were alone, it would surely haunt him forever.

Yugi reached for the microphone.

Herb had painstakingly told him the radio protocols, but he couldn’t remember a word of it. Did it even matter? He kept it simple: “This is the Crawford Sound Lighthouse. …Where are you?” His voice came out thready. He worried it hadn’t carried, but the other end responded almost instantly.

“ _This is Heavenly Sound III. We see you!”_ It was the most relieved voice Yugi had ever heard, and he was struck with dread. “ _We’ve wrecked offshore. We are two people on board. Can you assist?”_

How on earth could he help them? He thought of the little metal motorboat in the boathouse. Hardly trusted himself to figure it out on a nice day, and Joey had advised against going out at all.

_ No one expects you to risk your life out there, _ he’d said. If Yugi went out in this, it’d be three victims instead of two. He stood to look through the window towards the strait. The rain was pelting down so hard he couldn’t see anything through the gray.

“Is there any way you can hang on until this passes?” he asked, stomach in knots. Was that the right thing to do? Wait it out? Yugi feared the storm would pass, and he’d be left with not just a shipwreck but two deaths on his conscience.

The silence dragged on, and he wondered if it was already too late. The grim voice came back:

“ _We’ll hang on as long as we can_.”

*

The storm was a slow-moving tormentor, as though it had decided to settle over Crawford Sound and wreak havoc. Every while, the radio would light up, and the boat would send out an update and Yugi would force himself to choke out an acknowledgement. A gut-wrenching disaster in stop motion, right until the last call came through:

_ “We have to abandon ship.” _

And the messages ended. Yugi sat on the metal floor, arms around his knees, face buried against his knees. He felt wretched. Trapped in this tower living a nightmare he had never anticipated, but drowning inside like those two people. Those people outside in this storm. Lost in the surge of the Sound. They’d be crushed against the rocks, beaten and battered and drowned long before he had any hope of going out there to save them.

The ghost had been nearby this whole time, but Yugi hadn’t given it any thought, fully engrossed in his second-hand calamity. Until now. Wherever it had been lingering, it came over and settled down beside him, a stiff wall of cold air. Yugi froze, a sob stuck in his throat. Waited.

But it was just… there. Like it had been all night before.

Against his better judgement, face still hidden, Yugi roughly whispered: “What do you want from me?”

It said nothing.

Yugi shuddered. He didn’t speak to it again. It was just another stark reminder of death. Of loss and fear and helplessness.

The ghost didn’t leave.

*

By early evening, hours after the radio had gone silent, the storm let up. The wind finally ran out of breath, and the rain softened into a light drizzle.

Yugi steeled himself for what waited outside. Any sign of the ship, or it’s unfortunate crew. The state of the fuel house.

The ghost was still close as Yugi pulled on his raincoat, but it’s presence no longer filled him with panic. There was only room in his heart for his stolid grief. Compared to his own internal torment, a haunting spirit was nothing. He couldn’t stop thinking of those poor people. If someone _better_ had been here, maybe they could have been saved. Why had anyone thought it a good idea for him to come here?

Yugi gave no thought to the ghost drifting behind him as he went out the door and down the path. He wanted to get a better look at the westward side of the island, towards the strait and the shore.

His heart stopped.

“Oh my god,” he gasped.

There was no sign of the ship that had wrecked. No mast or hull in sight. Lost to whatever depths it had been dragged down to.

But there were two people huddled on a pillar of rock, out in the middle of the strait, perched high out of the water, dropped there by some massive swell. Even in the light haze of rain their foul weather gear stood out sharply against the ruddy colour of the rocks.

When he was sure of what he was seeing, Yugi took off at a run for the boathouse. His boots slipped and sucked their way through the mud, while he flailed his arms over his head, hollering as loud as he could, trying to get their attention. One of them noticed, raised an arm overhead in acknowledgement and then hunkered back down.

The motorboat was still in the boathouse. Yugi was fairly certain that it had been that beaten up the last time he’d looked at it, though now a few extra inches of water were sloshing around in it. It didn’t matter. As long as it was floating.

He reached for the dock line, to untie it, but he was stopped before he could touch it.

Something had grabbed his outstretched arm.

Yugi couldn’t see the ghost, but there was a crinkle in the sleeve of his yellow coat where an invisible hand was holding him fast. His visceral shock was like an electrocution.

“Let me _go!_ ” he shouted, trying to pull away.

And it did, so abruptly he landed hard on his backside. Yugi was up instantly. Without giving it a chance to try and grab him again, he threw himself into the boat and struggled for balance as it wobbled beneath his unsteady feet. But he threw off its mooring, and fell onto the outboard motor’s pull cord to rip at it.

The engine roared to life.

If he was fleeing from the ghost, or rushing towards the stranded couple on the rocks, it didn’t matter.

*

Yugi didn’t have so much as a drivers’ license back in Domino, much less used a boat. Despite his hurry to leave the boathouse, he ended up making a cautious and ambling trajectory towards the pair on the rock. The swells, full from the storm, pushed the boat around and over treacherous rocks, while the current tried to drag him away from the shore and out to sea. No matter how he steered, with each wave the rocks seemed to vanish and reappear in his way.

Daunted, Yugi couldn’t help but think of Herb and his great red sea monster. _Slipher_.

But he made it, by some miracle. The gunnels of the boat came to grind ungracefully against the tall pillar of rock.

“Are you guys okay?” he called up, struggling to hold the boat against slippery stone.

Two faces peered down at him. “Alive, I think,” called one of them through chattering teeth. “Here, catch!”

A blue waterproof sack landed heavily in the middle of the boat. Followed by an orange one. And then the first person started clambering down the side of the rock, with the second close behind. They dropped down, one after the other, and held their balance easily as the boat swayed beneath them. They looked like drowned rats, if not well-equipped rats, bundled up in heavy foul-weather gear, lifejackets snug overtop. Their hoods were up and drawn tight around their goggled faces so that only their noses poked out. No other skin was exposed, and they trembled with cold and exhaustion.

“I was scared you guys…” Yugi cut himself short. He’d already spent the better part of the day convinced they’d died. They surely had had enough of their own fears without him voicing his own. “I’m really glad you both made it.”

“Please just get us to shore,” was the pleading response.

*

As they puttered their way towards the lighthouse, they pulled off their goggles, and loosened their hoods, and Yugi could see them better. One had stark white skin, tinged blue, and the other, darkly tanned but ashen. The tanned one introduced himself as Malik, his voice cadenced with an accent Yugi couldn’t place, and despite looking like he’d just as soon collapse, took over the motor from Yugi.

“I’m sorry, I really have no idea what I’m doing,” Yugi confessed as he moved aside.

The look he received could have burned a hole straight through him. “Yeah, I can _tell_. If you got us killed after we just survived that insanity, I’d be fucking _pissed._ ”

Yugi held up his hands. “I’m new, I’m sorry,” he reiterated.

The other young man, Ryou, spoke up, voice breathy and weary. “Just be glad there’s someone here at all.” He turned his haunted, wary gaze back on the water.

Malik was sufficiently chastised, and they were all silent until they reached the boathouse. The two rescues didn’t hesitate to grab the two waterproof bags — all that was left of their worldly possessions— and nimbly leapt onto the dock, but Yugi hesitated. In his mind his arm still burned, like it was frostbitten, from the ghost’s fierce grip.

Did it not want other people here? Had it wanted them left to die on the rocks of the Sound?

Yugi felt his breath catch. _Would it_ hurt _them?_

Malik had no idea of Yugi’s reservations. He held a hand out to him, a conciliatory gesture despite his grim expression. Yugi swallowed nervously and accepted the help as he stepped off the boat.

They made their way up the stairs to the top of the bluff, and Yugi’s senses were primed for any sign of the ghost. But in the drizzle it was hard to know what was cold rain and what was _something else_ prickling down his neck.

The door of the fuel house was still open, as it had been when Yugi left it for the lighthouse, but now it was crooked, hanging from only one hinge. Everything indoors had been soaked. Water was running in rivulets along the floor. The pot used to catch the leak from the roof had long since overflowed. There was a sag in the ceiling.

Yugi stood in the door, not sure where to even start.

“What _is_ this?” Malik asked with clear distaste as he looked over Yugi’s shoulder into the ramshackle dwelling.

“Do you need something from here?” Ryou asked, still subdued. “We really need to warm up, is it okay if we just wait for you in the house?” He was holding his blue dry sack tight against his chest, arms tightly crossed over it, trying to conserve heat, but he tilted his head towards the little white building further up the hill.

The keepers’ quarters.

Yugi went rigid. He’d never set foot in the house. Had resolutely averted his eyes from its darkened windows. Herb’s warning, and the few logbook entries he’d read, and the _actual ghost_ were more than enough to keep him away.

“I, uh, was told it wasn’t safe,” Yugi hedged.

“Well, we can’t stay _here_.” Malik started towards the keeper’s quarters without waiting for permission, ushering Ryou ahead of him with a gloved hand at his back.

Yugi’s stomach dropped. But the fuel house was a mess, not fit for anyone to live in anymore.

He wasn’t sure the house would be any better, but he followed reluctantly, afraid of what they would find inside.

*

Malik brazenly threw open the unlocked door, stepping in with Ryou close behind. Yugi stood just outside, toes of his boots at the edge of the doorframe, still in the rain.

It was dim, dusty and dated, judging by the faded brown-orange wallpaper, and a few simple furnishings pulled right out of a catalog from the 1970’s. There wasn’t even a couch; just a few wooden chairs around a table. The front door opened directly into the main room, and off to the side was a proper little kitchen and a bathroom. A staircase led to the floor above. In the far corner was a potbelly stove, standing on a wide stone hearth with a large metal tub filled with coal briquettes by its side.

The overhead light turned on when Malik flipped a switch.

Yugi’s eyes zeroed in on a single vinyl mattress and blanket, heaped in the middle of the living room floor. A twin to the single mattress back in the fuel house. The thought of the previous keeper’s entries made him dizzy.

_ …but Ches is staying in the main quarters tonight… He’s gone sick in the head… It’s driving me crazy. _

“Are you going to start the fireplace or have we got to do everything?”

Yugi had never lit a fire in his life, still hadn’t found the courage to set foot inside the house, and Malik sighed irritably. Ryou made no fuss, simply lifted a box of matches from an otherwise bare shelf and opened up the little door of the furnace.

“So what exactly is wrong with this place?” Malik called loudly, as he loped up the stairs to scope out the rooms above. “And would you _close the door_?”

“I’ve only been here a week,” Yugi replied as he tiptoed over the threshold. He half expected the ghost to jump out and grab him. Throw him out. He reluctantly pulled the door shut against the light rain, and then pressed his back against it, certain that it was a bad idea to be in here. “Didn’t… get much history on the place.”  _Where was it?_

There was a crackle of flames in the wide mouth of the furnace, the coal catching with a hot sizzle. Ryou warmed his hands by it for a moment, until Malik came down the stairs with an armful of musty blankets he’d pillaged from a bedroom. And they unceremoniously stripped off all their gear, layer after wet layer, right down to their underwear, flopping everything else over the backs of the wooden chairs surrounding the dining table.

Yugi paled at the sight of both of them, splotched all over with wide bruises. Malik caught him looking just as Yugi tried to hastily look away.

“Rough seas,” he said with a crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ryou quietly agreed, pausing for a moment, briefly lost somewhere back in the Sound.

Yugi had spent the entire storm hiding in the lighthouse, had no frame of reference for what they had really been through. So he stayed quiet and averted his eyes, kept them trained on his boots and the mud on the laminate floor. While he was dripping water by the door, the others each pulled a blanket over their shoulders and scooted themselves as close as possible to the little black furnace.

After a minute of relishing the heat, Malik piped back up. “We thought this lighthouse was automated, but I’m even more surprised to find a kid here alone. Are you some kind of squatter?”

Yugi couldn’t help but feel defensive. “I’m not a kid. I was hired by Pegasus Development Corp—”

He inhaled sharply, a shiver running up his spine. _It was here._ “—p-poration,” he finished with a wheeze.

“Are you okay?” Ryou seemed to be reviving, and raised his head to look at Yugi. His white mop of hair was wet and stuck to his skin, and he slicked it away from his face. Malik was pulling his own platinum blonde hair into a rough ponytail, and he gave Yugi a curious look as well.

Yugi was overflowing with unease. Had he just led them into something worse? He couldn’t bring himself to speak his fears out loud, so deflected. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better help, but I’m really glad you guys are okay. What happened out there?”

This was an equally unwelcome topic, judging by the tension that suddenly filled the air. A massive can of worms about burst open.

“Well—” Malik started cautiously. “We… misjudged the storm. I thought we’d be able to skirt along the north of it and make great time on our crossing to Plymouth.”

Ryou’s somber expression twisted into something absolutely despairing. “Misjudged?! My dad’s boat is _gone_! You almost got us _killed_!”

“This isn’t my fault!” Malik hissed. “I didn’t think you’d bring me to the _North Atlantic_!”

“You said you wanted _adventure_ —"

“I didn’t want rain and cold! You’re _British_ , I thought you would try to leave it behind!”

“Then why were you _so certain_ we could handle a _force eleven storm_ —"

Yugi pressed against the door, feeling trapped as the argument rapidly spiralled. As much as glad to have them safely here, he was _not_ one for confrontations. And the way they were going it sounded like this one might just be getting started. He fidgeted, feeling torn in every direction.

He wanted to get away and let them hash out their disagreement, but he was also cold and shivering under his own rain gear. He also wanted to dry off and warm up.

And there was the question of the _ghost_ , and what it would do to them now that they’d intruded here. Would it curse them one by one? Or all together? Come after them while they slept, or would it wake them, want to see the fear in their eyes?

Yugi squeezed his eyes shut, balled his hands into fists, tried to push his fear from his mind. Tried to think of a single, practical action he could take. The same way he’d gotten through every other day here.

“I’m going to grab some stuff for dinner, I’ll be right back,” he announced. Neither Ryou nor Malik spared him a glance, preoccupied with detailing every misdeed ever that had led to _Heavenly Sound III’s_ demise.

Yugi escaped out the door. The rain had almost stopped, now only a mist of wet air that coated him as he walked. For a moment he thought the temperature was dropping.

But no.

The ghost had followed him out of the house. It hadn’t stayed to torment the rescued sailors, the ones who had so boldly entered the keepers’ quarters. Instead it was right on his heel as he made for the dilapidated fuel house.

Yugi felt sick, but didn’t stop as he slipped along the muddy trail. Tried to bite back a sob as a realization hit him.

It didn’t care about _strangers_ on the island. It was only here to haunt the _keepers_.

*

Water was still coming through what was now a definite crack along the ceiling of the fuel house, a split in the plaster from wall to wall, droplets falling like a curtain.

Yugi’s mind was elsewhere, however, as he crossed the room.

On the ghost behind him. _Always watching_.

He breathed through his panic, grabbed the driest cardboard box he could find, and threw tins of _whatever_ into it, along with a few of his belongings and the gifts from Joey. There would be no more hiding in this broken shack. If he was already doomed to some ghost’s curse, then there was nothing he could do but try to get through it. And hope that the others would be spared from whatever might come.

He closed his eyes, tried to calm his trembling hands and pounding heart before hefting the box into his arms.

But there was no suppressing a shudder as he walked out the door and _through_ the ghost.

*

To his surprise, Malik and Ryou had already stopped fighting. Yugi found them sitting in a petulant silence, staring at the hot coals of the furnace. Whether they’d reached an impasse or an agreement or were just simply too exhausted from the whole ordeal to carry on, Yugi couldn’t tell. But before he could speculate on anything, the ghost brushed past him through the door.

Nothing for it then. Gritting his teeth, Yugi toed off his muddy boots and crossed the room to drop the box on the dining table. The heavy thump got Malik’s attention, and he perked up.

“I’m _starving_ , what have you got?”

Using all his willpower to focus on _not the ghost_ , Yugi dug into the jumbled box to see what he’d even grabbed. “I hope you guys are alright with…” he pulled out a can and examined the label, then checked if there were enough for all three of them. “Chili?”

Malik unfolded himself from his seated position, but kept the blanket wrapped around him as he strolled barefoot into the kitchen. There would be no complaints against a free, hot meal. He helped Yugi search around for dishes, the whole time lamenting the impossibility of eating a proper meal on stormy seas. They found a set of bowls and spoons, and a pot under the stove.

In no time Malik had two piping hot bowls in hand, and handed one to Ryou, still seated by the furnace, who accepted it wordlessly. He gestured for Yugi to come sit beside them.

Yugi hadn’t stepped any further into the house than absolutely necessary, trying to unobtrusively edge around the kitchen and the living space. Hadn’t even felt comfortable enough to remove his dripping raincoat. He was standing by the door again, clutching a warm bowl in his cold hands, reluctant to put it down though he had to leave.

“I have to go turn on the light.”

“We’ll keep this going to warm this place up for you then,” Ryou promised, having brightened now that he had something to eat.

It was such a casual, collegial remark that it caught Yugi off guard. He had sat in the lighthouse every night since he’d arrived here. The mere thought of stepping out of the lighthouse into the dark of a haunted island at night had been too terrifying a concept.

But here were two people, friendly enough despite all they had just endured. A warm, inviting furnace heating up the air. An option he’d never even considered.

No matter his apprehension about the house or the ghost, there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

So Yugi nodded after a moment and said, “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

*

The sky was finally starting to clear as the beacon blinked to life. Yugi made a longer entry than usual in the waterlogged notebook. He detailed the storm and the rescue, the damage to the fuel house, even added a note that they were all staying in the keepers’ quarters. He grimaced a little at what he’d written. How he hoped nothing would happen overnight.

He stared up at the spinning light above him for a moment, pensive. It was easy to imagine becoming just one more in a series of freakishly unsettling entries.

He watched it, and then remembered something Herb had told him. Yugi picked up a cloth and a bottle of glass cleaner that had been tossed into a milk crate of cables and bulbs, and diligently climbed outside to the gallery deck. The windows had to be cleaned after the storm, wiped free of salt and rain spots. No grit or grime to inhibit the long reach of the beacon.

As Yugi worked his way around the outside, he kept close to the wall, aware of how slippery the metal platform was from the rain. The simple guardrail would do nothing to save him from a long drop to the ground or the rocks or the ocean below.

And he was acutely aware that he wasn’t alone even now. The ghost was _here_. But instead of a cold air beside him, it was clinging to the darkness, twisting in the shadows as the beacon spun around. It was unnerving. Made his own shadow feel _heavier_ in a way he couldn’t explain.

Unsettling as it was, Yugi couldn’t help but think perhaps it was better to have it here, where he knew where it was, than with the unsuspecting pair back in the house.

Carefully keeping his gaze straight ahead, focused on the glass, on that reassuring light on the other side, he wished aloud, “I don’t care what you want with me, but _please_ leave the others alone. They’ve been through enough.”

Was it too much to hope for? Was it stupid to even trying to talk to it in the first place? He waited a moment. There was nothing but the cloying sensation of an unnatural weight to the darkness around him.

He hurriedly finished his work and clambered off the deck.

*

In the time he’d been gone, Malik and Ryou had, apparently, made themselves at home. Not only had they washed their dishes, but someone had rummaged through the box of things Yugi had liberated from the fuel house. Now the dining table had been pulled up close to the hearth, the CD player bopping out a tune on the lowest volume, and the two of them were seated across from each other playing a card game.

“Your music sucks,” Malik said without looking away from the fan of cards in his hands. “I can’t believe you don’t even get a radio signal out here.”

Yugi couldn’t help his small laugh. The whole scene was so inviting that instead of fretting by the door, waiting for the ghost to blow by him, he peeled off all his wet rain gear, _finally_ , and pitched them over a coat hook on the wall. He’d been instantly intrigued by the card game, and so crossed the room to watch them exchange a few hands. Some variation of rummy. Ryou smiled at him.

“I hope it’s alright we’re using your things. Would you like us to deal you in next round?”

Yugi bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Please!” He couldn’t even name the last time he’d played cards outside of some apps on his phone, and he eagerly took a seat.

“Don’t trust him,” Malik warned as he drew a card. “He looks nice but he’s a total shark.”

Ryou flushed, but was focused on his hand. “I suppose it would look bad if I laid my last meld right now.”

Malik gave him an annoyed glare as Ryou placed four cards face up on the table, winning the round. “You’re the worst.”

Ryou was biting back a grin, and his eyes were bright when he looked to Yugi. A total transformation from when he had first been picked up in the boat. The wonders of a meal and a warm, dry place to shelter in. “We’ll show you how to play!”

Yugi was a quick study, the rules and scoring not too complex, and he was winning on his own soon enough. But while the other two relaxed into friendly banter over the table, his mind was drawn backwards, to the cold air pressing against him. Where the _ghost_ was leaning over his shoulder. It was right up against his neck, muffling the sound in his ear.

He may have asked it to leave the others alone, even said that he didn’t care what it wanted with him. But this was too much. Yugi was sitting ramrod straight, sweating and shaking so badly the cards almost slipped out of his fingers. An invisible palm wrapped around his hand.

“ _Stop!_ ” he shouted, dropping everything and bolting away from the table to back against the wall.

Ryou was shocked, mouth agape, while Malik scowled at him with narrowed eyes.

“I’m sorry, have we done something?” Ryou apologized, and they both put their cards down, slow and careful, as though Yugi might lash out.

His heart was racing, eyes wild and fearful. He had to look insane to them. “I-I’m sorry, it’s not you guys. I just… I can’t stay in here.” Yugi said breathlessly.

“Where are you going to go?” Malik asked, voice drab but watching Yugi suspiciously.

Good question. Another sleepless night in the lighthouse _alone_ with the ghost? The crumbling fuel house? His lungs were burning, and he forced himself to gulp in some air. “I don’t know, but I–—” What could he even say? “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Kind of already do—”

Ryou chided Malik under his breath “It’s okay, Yugi. What’s wrong? Can we help you?” He smiled kindly. “Let us return the favour.”

Yugi looked between them, At Ryou’s encouraging expression, and Malik’s feigned indifference.

“There’saghosthauntingtheisland,” he blurted out, before he could second guess himself.

They both looked at him, trying to make sense of the gibberish, until understanding dawned on them.

Ryou’s face went from confused, to thoughtful, and then settled on awed. It was _not_ what Yugi had expected.

Malik threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “ _Wallah_ , Yugi, please tell me you’re kidding.” He then fixed a bland look on Ryou. “I can’t believe I’m here with _two_ of you. Why can’t we just play cards like normal people?”

“Is it here now?” Ryou leaned forward, undeterred.

Yugi almost nodded, but… despite his pounding heart, there was no telltale chill. He dragged his gaze around the room, as though there might be _some_ visible sign of it. “…It was, until now,” he said, unable to help feeling embarrassed.

But Ryou seemed like he might burst with excitement, too many questions fighting their way through him. “What’s it like?”

His enthusiasm was so at odds with how Yugi felt, he wasn’t quite sure how to adequately sum up eight long days of mounting terror. Had been fighting so hard to _not_ think about it that now he was at a loss for words. “It’s… cold.”

The stunted response deflated Ryou.

Malik looked between them, then clapped his hands decisively. He waved Ryou out of his seat and set about rearranging the furniture as he saw fit. When the chairs had been drawn into a close half circle in front of the furnace, he finally extended a hand to Yugi. “Come on, warm up then. _Everything_ here is cold. Trust me, I get it.”

Yugi wound up with a blanket over his shoulders, in the middle seat between his two guests, tucked in front of the furnace so the vents were blowing hot air over him.

Malik was the one to encourage him. “Tell us what makes the cold you’re feeling different.”

Feeling safe and sheltered and comfortably toasty, Yugi told them in hushed tones about the presence that was following him. The spots of cold. Tts icy grip on his arm. The strange weight of the shadows. The things that dropped and moved and startled him at all hours. With a sickened glance over his shoulder at the vinyl mattress flipped against a wall, he even told them about what had happened to the two previous keepers.

Both Malik and Ryou were properly disturbed.

“What do you know about ghosts?” Yugi finally asked Ryou.

The young man blushed and looked at his hands. “I’ve never actually _met_ a ghost— it’s just a… a hobby?” He seemed surprised when Yugi nodded and waited for him to continue. “…It sounds like it might be… well, not _angry_ but… territorial? You said there were logbooks, have you read them? Done any research on what might have happened?”

Yugi absolutely had _not_ dared to open a single one of those books. He squinched his face at the thought sitting _alone with a ghost_ , reading cryptic first-hand accounts of all the horrible ways people had lost their minds or died on this island. Yeah, not happening.

Malik was more attuned to Yugi’s discomfort than Ryou. “ _Yalla habibi_ , he doesn’t want to read ghost stories, he wants it to _go away_.”

“Right. Well,” Ryou seemed flustered. “Have you tried speaking to it? It might just be trying to make itself known. Playing tricks because it’s frustrated.”

Yugi liked that suggestion even less. The few times he’d spoken to it the ghost had just become even more persistent in its hovering. The opposite of leaving him alone.

“I don’t know what it wants from me,” Yugi said quietly.

Ryou pursed his lips in thought. “I really think you should try to find out more. Find a way to appease it, help it move on. Or if you can’t do that, at least be friendly.”

Malik leaned around Yugi to point a scolding finger at Ryou. “Don’t you dare be friendly. We all know you want a ghost of your own. But if you bury me, I promise _I_ will come back and haunt you.”

Ryou went from flustered to beet red, stammering something incomprehensible. Yugi couldn’t blame him, didn’t know what to make of such a morbidly affectionate declaration.

But Malik moved on from it breezily, fixing Yugi with his piercing eyes though he was now smiling. “By all means, _you_ do what you want. You could treat it like a socially oblivious roommate,” he grinned. “Be a good example. Set boundaries.”

“And if you really want to encourage it to leave, you could try to…” Ryou had recovered enough to return to the topic at hand. He looked around the dusty room with its dingy walls. “Cleanse the space.”

Malik laughed outright at the tactful suggestion, and the bright noise seemed to clear the air, much the same as Joey’s presence had when he’d been on the island.

Yugi was a little self-conscious at the jab to his living situation, but nonetheless he felt warmed from the inside out. Their presence was reassuring. They pacified his fears, and filled the vacant house with life.

“I don’t know about you, but if we keep talking about this I’ll never be able to close my eyes again.” Malik said, and stood to drag the table back over, close to their half-circle by the furnace. “Let’s play one more game.”

*

They hardly made it through a single round before Ryou and Malik were finally overcome by their exhaustion, wholly depleted by weeks at sea, and the stress and adrenaline of the day. They excused themselves and retreated up the stairs.

Yugi, not quite ready to sleep, stayed by the fire.

The glow of the hot coals was the only source of light in the house, aside from the regular sweep of the lighthouse’s beam through the front windows. Yugi kept his feet propped up on the stone hearth, socks no longer wet, the rest of him still bundled in a thick wool blanket. It was good to be dry. The heat sapped all the stress out of him.

And he felt safe, knowing there were two people sleeping peacefully upstairs. It had been a relief too, to talk about the ghost. To hear Ryou’s heartfelt advice and Malik’s confident assurances that this was all in Yugi’s control.

And Yugi felt so comfortable and calm that if he happened to see, out of the corner of his eye, someone sitting beside him, also watching the fire, he didn’t think anything of it. Just drifted into a soft doze, glad that he wasn’t alone.


	4. Chapter 4

_ “This Saturday friends and family celebrated the 80 _ _ th _ _ birthday of Bernie Mac at the Hawkins Harbour Community Centre. His birthday follows last month’s sudden death of his grandson, George Muttart, who died of electrocution only a week after starting parole and taking up a posting at the Crawford Sound lighthouse. The lighthouse was fully electrified in 1956, and the Hon. Chilton J. Crawford released a statement attributing the accident to salt corrosion of the wiring.”  _ ~ The Harbour Times, February 21 st 1960

*

There was a hand on his knee. A nudge trying to rouse him.

Yugi woke slowly. He’d fallen asleep in the chair. The fire had gone out, just a few grey coals and white ash left inside the furnace. The air was chilled, and he shrugged the blanket over his head. His chin nodded back down to his chest. Slowly drifted back to sleep.

A shatter of glass sounded from the kitchen, and he jerked fully awake.

“I’m up!” Yugi shouted. The sun was just starting to come through a window. He relaxed a little. The blue sky was a welcome sight after yesterday’s storm. And it’d been a quiet, uneventful night. Not a single disturbance, from a ghost or anything else. The wooden chair wasn’t comfortable, but he’d slept. He let out a yawn and a stretch.

And then his brain finally caught up. The _sun_ was coming through the _window_. The beacon. With a groan, Yugi dropped the blanket from his shoulders and ran for the door, jumping into his boots to book it to the lighthouse.

The ground was muddy from yesterday’s torrential rain, and he left a trail of muck as he stomped his way up the stairs. By the time his hands fell to the power switch he was out of breath. The light turned off, and the spin slowed to a stop.

_ “…to Victor-Oscar-one-Charlie-Whiskey. Please respond.” _

He was still too late. The radio was lit up, crackling with a transmission. That was the lighthouse’s callsign. They were calling him. Yugi grimaced.

_ “This is coast guard vessel Grenfell to VO1CW. Please respond.” _ It repeated.

He hesitantly pulled the microphone to himself. “…this is the Crawford Sound Lighthouse. Good morning!” Yugi croaked. As soon as the words left his dry mouth he cringed. Too early in the morning for words. Or correct radio protocol. Too late now. He coughed and tried to clear his throat as he waited for a reply.

He heard the tail end of a relieved laugh as the voice called back. “ _Good morning to you too. We are on our way to you, what’s the emergency?_ ”

Yugi just about responded with an apology, a dismissal. But he had two people in the house who would need a lift off the island. “There was a shipwreck yesterday. I’ve got two people here.”

The man on the other end asked a handful of direct questions. Boat name? Any injuries? Any casualties? He finished with a promise to be there within the hour.

Yugi put down the receiver and rubbed his eyes. After the madness of yesterday the radio had grown into as frightening a thing as the ghost, but today’s interaction had ended with relief. He’d expected some kind of chastising for… any number of things. But the voice on the other end had been calm and reassuring and steady. A _professional._ And they were on their way to whisk away his two shipwreck survivors.

He peered out the window to the ocean’s horizon. There was no sign of the boat yet. Still, after the desperation of the storm, and the lack of response from the coast guard to Malik and Ryou’s distress call, it was reassuring to know that they really were out there. Someone watching for the light.

But soon he would be left alone once again with something else that was watching. Yugi worried his lip. Nothing had happened though. Despite all his expectations otherwise. Would it still be okay after the others left?

Yugi made his way out of the lighthouse, and carefully kept his eyes away from the empty space the ghost occupied beside the door.

*

Back in the house, Ryou was up. He had a broom and dustpan in hand, and greeted Yugi brightly.

“I hope it’s alright that I started the kettle. And don’t worry, I cleaned up the broken glass.”

Broken glass? Yugi frowned, until he remembered the sound that had woken him. The ghost? “Thanks,” was all he said, wrapping his arms around himself and staring absently at the dustbin.

The night had been… entirely uneventful after everyone had gone to sleep. None of the things Yugi had feared had happened. A single broken glass in the morning. Had it just been trying to wake him? And as he thought about it more… Had he felt a hand on his knee? It was hard to say how it made him feel. It wasn’t relief.

“Was everything okay last night for you guys?” Yugi asked.

Ryou smiled. “We’ve been living on board for several weeks. You get used to always moving with the boat, even when you’re trying to sleep. It felt weird to be in a normal bed.” He noticed something was off when Yugi kept frowning. “I mean, it was a good weird. A normal weird. There was nothing weird.” He gave up. “…Were you alright down here?”

When Yugi’s mouth drew into a thin, pensive line, Ryou glanced to the dustpan he’d just put aside, eyes going a little wide. “Problems with the ghost?”

Yugi shrugged, not sure what to say. He was still nervous, but not in the way he had been afraid before. It was confusion. Uncertainty. Fear of something inexplicable and incomprehensible. But it hadn’t hurt anyone. Yet?

“I know you said you don’t know the history of this place but I was wondering…” Ryou was watching Yugi’s face carefully, hesitant to broach the subject. But he clearly had something to say about it. “I don’t imagine my boat is the first one to sink here.”

Yugi didn’t know what point he was trying to make. There could be a thousand shipwrecks around the Sound. Did he think the island was crawling with the spirits of _everyone_ lost at sea?

“Out in that storm, I couldn’t help but think…” Ryou was struggling with something. “I was so certain we were going to die. I think I can understand why there might be a ghost here.” His gaze turned towards the window. To the Sound, and the red rocks exposed by the low tide. “I’ve never been scared of the ocean in my life until…”

Ryou was trying to put something into words. But he seemed to give it up. “It would be a frightening way to go,” he finished lamely.

Yugi didn’t doubt it. Is that what he thought the ghost was? Some victim of the Sound? “Well, I’m glad _you_ guys made it out alive,” he said quietly. Better to focus on the positive. Try to move on from the near-tragedy of yesterday. “The coast guard is on their way to get you guys, by the way. You’ll be heading home in no time.”

“Oh! That’s great.” Ryou’s words fell flat. Yugi had thought the news would come as a relief, but this seemed to be a whole other concern. Ryou noticed his curious expression and rushed to explain. “Thank you. I’m just dreading calling my father. He’ll be so upset about the boat.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad you’re alright.” Yugi offered. Things could have gone so much worse, and as much as Ryou might worry about the potential fallout, or be haunted by the trauma of the sea, Yugi could think only of gratitude and relief for how things had gone yesterday. It could have just as easily ended in a much greater loss. “A boat isn’t anything compared to a life.”

Ryou’s grin was pained. “I suppose.”

Yugi started going through the cupboards to find some mugs as the kettle started to boil. “I’m the only one left in my family,” he said softly. “I mean there was nothing like… a sudden accident. But I miss them a lot. All I ever wanted was for them to be okay. For a bit more time with them.” An old, faded grief squeezed his heart as he spoke. His grandfather to age. His mother falling ill. And even earlier… the vague memory of his father leaving. He hurried to make his point. “I’m sure your father would be devastated if something had happened to you. He’ll be relieved to hear you’re safe. And if he’s not for some reason, then at least you’ve got Malik?” Yugi wasn’t sure if he was overstepping, but there was a small, shy smile on Ryou’s face as he accepted a cup of tea.

“Yeah. You’re right. Thank you.”

They stood quietly in the kitchen, mugs in hand, each lost in their own private thoughts as they waited for the tea to cool.

For Yugi, his mind was tuned to the invisible third party in the kitchen with them.

A ghost. A restless remnant of some bygone catastrophe. How unexpectedly a life could end. How desperately one might fight to hang on.

Yugi looked to the empty space where he thought it stood.

How lonely to be left behind.

*

Malik’s footsteps sounded on the floor above them, and he joined them in the kitchen not long after. Ryou handed him a coffee, and Malik sniffed it uncertainly.

“Instant?”

“What else would it be?” Ryou replied drily, a hint of _don’t be rude_ in his voice.

Malik’s face soured but he sipped it without complaint. “So how do we get off this rock?” he asked Yugi.

“The coast guard is on their way to pick us up.” Ryou filled him in, when Yugi didn’t immediately respond, still lost in thought. “They should be here soon.”

Malik leaned against the counter, sagging with relief. “Thank god.” He caught sight of Ryou’s bleak look. “What? You want to stay here with Yugi and his ghost?”

Ryou ignored the teasing, and looked uncertainly at Yugi, then the dustbin where he’d deposited the broken glass. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here on your own?” he asked.

Yugi didn’t hear the question. He had hardly even noticed Malik enter the kitchen. Too wound up in old memories of loved ones lost, and grappling with the uncertainty about the presence on the island. Was it like Ryou thought, someone shipwrecked long ago, lost and alone and unable to move on? Not something to fear, but rather something that was afraid?

Yugi knew something of that. Had been so helpless before, with his mother, and his grandpa. And Ryou’s suggestion from the night before had started him thinking. Was there something he could do here? Help the ghost move on? It may be here haunting him, yes, but a feeling of powerlessness had been haunting him for far longer. He _wanted_ to help people. He _wanted_ to be brave. He just never knew _how—_

There was a soft touch on his arm, and he jumped. But it was only Malik, sharing the same concerned look as Ryou.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Yugi said, too quickly. “It’s been really good having you both here, even just for a bit. I’m going to miss you both.”

Neither of them looked convinced, but before Malik could call him out, Ryou jumped in. “I wanted to ask - is there anything we can help with before we leave? Really, you honestly saved us and—” He looked around the house. “I can’t imagine it’s easy being here on your own. Let us help get you sorted out.”

Yugi insisted there wasn’t anything they could do, but neither of them would take no for an answer. So after a quick breakfast of instant oats, Malik started helping Yugi move everything from the fuel house into the keeper’s quarters, while Ryou, to Yugi’s absolute shock, volunteered to go to the lighthouse to look at the logbooks. See if there was anything to be found out about the ghost.

*

Yugi and Malik trekked back and forth, using the only sturdy cardboard box left after the storm to move everything over to the house. Malik even thoughtfully dragged the old vinyl-wrapped mattress back to the fuel house. Yugi hadn’t realized how good it felt to have it out of sight. To put away the reminder of whatever else had happened to the keepers before him.

Meanwhile Ryou was up in the lighthouse, reading old journal entries. Diving willingly into things Yugi wanted to ignore.

And to his steadily growing unrest, there was no sign of the ghost. Yugi didn’t say anything about it to Malik, but kept throwing concerned looks to the tower. He preferred knowing where it was, so he could at least pretend to ignore it, rather than living with the uncertainty of what it might be doing. If it was _doing_ _something_.

Yes, Yugi had quickly decided. Not knowing where it was was perhaps a thousand times worse than having it hovering nearby.

Malik noticed his worried looks, and misinterpreted them as wondering what _Ryou_ was up to.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s having a great time, I promise you. Life is like a balloon, you know?” he said lightly. Yugi couldn’t help but be very skeptical at this claim, and the strange analogy. But Malik went on, unbothered by Yugi’s doubtful look. “You have to fill it with things that give your life meaning, that excite you. If he likes scary things and ghost stories, I’m just glad he’s happy.” He shifted the box in his arms to open the door to the house. “What makes you happy?”

Yugi was caught off guard by the simple question, and was embarrassed to not have an immediate answer. He knew objectively the things he liked and didn’t like. But when was the last time he’d felt _happy_? It was hard to call to mind any recent time there had even been any steady sense of contentment in his life. He’d been feeling lost and alone for so long. But there were flashes. Small moments that kept close to his heart. Cheerful texts from Anzu. Meeting Joey. And now…

“I really liked playing cards with you guys last night.” He knew it wasn’t what Malik was really trying to ask. That he wanted to know if Yugi _was okay here_. But he didn’t have a sure answer for that, so he avoided it by forcing a wide smile onto his face.

Malik let out a _tch_ , a little annoyed by Yugi’s evasive answer. He dropped the box on the table and started emptying it out. “Maybe you can teach your ghost to play.”

Yugi balked at the idea. “I just hope Ryou can find a way to… put it to rest, or something.”

“Whatever will make this place suck less,” Malik agreed. Then he turned, head cocked attentively to something Yugi couldn’t hear. “I think our ride’s coming!”

He loped out of the house and across the rocks and grass to stop at the top of the stairs that lead to the boathouse. Yugi followed, and once outside he could hear the buzz of an outboard motor. A bright orange dinghy was making a beeline towards the island. Further out, a safe distance from the rocks and shallows of the Sound, was a large ship.

“ _Habibi_!” Malik hollered towards the lighthouse. “Let’s go! Civilization awaits us!”

Yugi couldn’t begrudge Malik his enthusiasm, but as he watched that orange boat approach, his heart dropped. He wasn’t ready for them to leave.

*

Malik had their two bags and a heap of still-wet rain gear down by the boathouse before the dingy had even managed to bump up against the dock. Yugi stood beside him but kept glancing up the hill, wondering what was taking Ryou so long. Wondering what trouble the ghost might be getting into.

“Are you two my passengers?” asked the man in the boat. He had come alone from the ship. Tall, brown hair buzzed short, with a red life vest and navy fleece sweater over a blue collared shirt. His nametag said ‘Honda Hiroto’ in big block letters, and he did a double take when Yugi introduced himself as the keeper.

“What the hell is Crawford playing at?” he shouted, reminiscent of Herb’s first greeting, and Yugi still wasn’t sure if _he_ was supposed to have an answer for that. Maybe not, since Honda didn’t wait for him to reply. “You know, you gave us a big scare this morning. I seriously thought I was going to have another—"

“Don’t you start about _scares_ ,” Malik interrupted. “Where the hell were you guys yesterday when we were calling for help?” He was irritated, but started piling their things into the boat without waiting for any invitation.

“We can’t be _everywhere_ and _in range_ at all times, Mr…”

“Ishtar,” Malik said tersely. “You guys are _useless_. We’re lucky Yugi was here, but I can’t believe you let him work out here alone!”

Yugi shifted uncomfortably and kept his mouth shut as these two big personalities bristled at each other. Though he couldn’t help but feel oddly buoyed by Malik’s defense, he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

Then again, Malik’s words only seemed to set off Honda’s temper even more. Incensed, he burst into a rant about Crawford, and his unqualified lighthouse keepers, and how the whole operation ought to belong to the coast guard.

“This place is a disaster, but we can’t do anything since Crawford still owns all the land around here,” he finished, and pinching the bridge of his nose he let out an irritated sigh.

When he finally looked to Yugi again his tone softened. “I’m sorry. I can’t promise we’ll always be in range, but don’t hesitate to at least _try_ to radio if there’s any kind of trouble. _Any_ kind. I swear to god, I don’t want to come out here to another…” he trailed off, not allowed to speak so candidly about the untimely end to the previous keepers. “Just… I can’t believe he sent you here alone. You gotta take care of yourself. Remember that Crawford is not watching out for you. There’s been way too many hopeless cases left here to fend for themselves over the years.”

Yugi nodded along, and startled when he noticed Ryou had quietly joined them on the dock. His eyes locked with Yugi’s, and there was something in his peaked expression that left a lump in his throat.

“Ryou, what—”

“There you are!” Malik exclaimed. “Have fun ghost hunting?”

Ryou turned even more pale, while Honda sputtered from the boat.

“ _What_ were you doing?”

“Nothing,” Ryou said quickly, though his eyes slid back to Yugi, and there was clearly _something_. “Just reading up on the place. Why, do you know something?”

The officer laughed nervously. “Nothing I want to talk about while I’m anywhere near this place. No offense,” he said with a glance to Yugi.

Malik took _full offense_ on his behalf. “You can’t say shit like that. He’s the one living here!” As he launched into a full-on castigation of the coast guard, Ryou caught Yugi by the elbow, leaned close to whisper in his ear.

“I only got through a few, but I left some important ones out for you. _Please_ be careful around it. I don’t think it’s a _victim._ ”

Yugi could see the wan tone to his already white skin, a bead of cold sweat tracking down his brow. Could feel his trembling hand on his arm. He knew the feeling all too well, and it set his own heart pounding. What had he read in those logbooks? Did that mean Yugi _shouldn’t_ do what he’d suggested? Or should he try _harder_ to appease it?

He couldn’t find his voice to ask.

“Listen,” Honda was trying to cut off Malik’s scathing offense. “We’ll see about keeping a patrol boat closer by. And I’ll talk to Crawford again.” He turned to Yugi. “Seriously, I’m sorry you’re here alone. But you did good yesterday, helping these two.”

The belated praise didn’t do much to boost Yugi’s confidence.

Malik noticed his forlorn expression, and looking like he’d rather punch Honda’s face in, he tried to encourage Yugi instead. “You’re going to be fine. You’re tougher than I thought. But I’ll make sure these idiots do what they say and send you some proper support!” he promised brightly, over Honda’s insulted ‘ _hey!’_ behind him.

Yugi wished there was a way he could keep some of Malik’s self-assurance for himself. Wished Ryou would just _tell him_ what he needed to know about the ghost. Wished selfishly that they would stay with him longer.

But Ryou was stepping into the orange boat with Malik and Honda. He was still throwing anxious looks between the Yugi, and the open water of the Sound.

“Stay safe,” Ryou finally said.

Yugi’s heart was racing in his chest. He was going to be alone again. But instead of reaching out to hold on, he just held out his hand to shake theirs goodbye. “Thank you for all your help. And your advice.”

Ryou was finding it hard to feign his own smile. “The same goes for you. Thank you. I wish we could stay longer to help.”

Yugi wanted the same thing. But Honda started up the motor. And no one spoke up to stop the boat from pulling away.

He could only wave back. Felt like a piece of him was leaving on that little orange boat. A sliver of warmth and courage and security. A fleeting moment of solidarity and companionship.

*

Yugi lowered himself to a seat on the dock, chin in his hands and feet hanging over the edge, waves lapping at the rubber soles of his boots. The orange speedboat had vanished towards the ship in the distance.

This part was perhaps worse than anything else. Watching people leave over and over again. Re-opening some kind of wound in his heart each time. He wasn’t sure if it was better to have the reprieve of other people on the island, or to go without the pain of saying goodbye.

And he was doubly alone right now. The ghost was still absent. And Yugi was left to speculate about what it could be getting up to. For a moment he thought he should just continue this circular dance around the island, painfully aware of the ghost but determinedly trying to pretend it wasn’t there. Crawl through each day until Joey returned. Until Mr. Crawford was forced to send some other person here.

_ I don’t think it’s a victim… _

What did that even _mean_? Yugi dragged his hands over his face and groaned. Those creepy journals would be waiting for him in the lighthouse. Undoubtedly the worst of whatever Ryou might have come across. He didn’t even want to open  them, much less read them. But he’d have to go up there tonight.

Either read them and learn more, or put them away and ignore…

He buried his face in his palms. No. He couldn’t keep living like this. He would try what Ryou and Malik had suggested. Do anything that might make being here more bearable. Maybe even, somehow, make things better for the ghost trapped here as well. Victim or… whatever else it might be.

When he eventually returned to the keeper’s quarters, his heart still skipped a beat when he turned the door handle. But nothing happened when he stepped through the door, so he continued the work he and Malik had started. The day passed slowly as Yugi put things away, and retrieved a few last things from the fuel house.

When everything had found a home, kitchen cupboards stocked, and his own belongings tucked away in the smaller of the two rooms upstairs, Yugi stood in the main room, absently rubbing his arms. There was a chill in the house, but it wasn’t the ghost. There’d been no sign of it since morning. Had it followed Ryou to the lighthouse? Was it still up there? The sun would set soon enough and he would _have_ to go see what might be waiting, but he could avoid it… just a little longer.

Malik had moved over the jugs of Herb’s foul moonshine and Yugi almost considered pouring himself some. But when he curiously uncorked one the smell was off-putting. He stuck it under the sink.

Yugi instead tried to recreate the comfort of the previous night. The fire in the furnace didn’t catch nearly as quickly as when Ryou had done it, but the coals lit eventually. And he turned on the little CD player, keeping it on the lowest volume because Malik was right, the music was terrible, but there was something reassuring about background noise instead of just wind against the window panes. The illusion of company.

And speaking of company… in spite of himself, he found his thoughts turning to the ghost. His hands shook a little as he shuffled the cards that had been left on the table from the night before. It had been _so close_ , and now? What was it doing if not watching him from a cold corner of the room? He couldn’t help but nervously wonder where it might be lurking instead. Half expected the fog horn to start blaring on its own.

He set aside the cards, the memory of last night’s encroachment still a little too close for comfort, and opted instead to dump out one of the jigsaw puzzles Joey had brought him. He spread the pieces out over the surface of the table and started to pick out the edges. Tried to convince himself that he was _glad_ it wasn’t hovering behind him for once.

And if he kept raising his head to look expectantly at the corners of the room, or the windows… well, there was no one around to see him do so.

*

The puzzle kept his hands busy until the natural light faded and the colours became hard to tell apart. The beacon was waiting. Yugi slipped on the rubber boots and with the lantern in hand he stepped out of the house.

It was the darker side of dusk, a clear August night, though the air wasn’t warm. He immediately missed the heat of the furnace inside, and he paused to zip up his sweater.

And as he lifted his chin, his hand stopped.

There, black against the navy sky, was someone standing on the gallery deck, up at the top of the lighthouse. A cloak hid most of the body, except for the unmistakable profile of a face looking out over the ocean.

Yugi was frozen in place, staring.

As though it sensed Yugi’s spying eyes, it turned its face to look down at him.

He couldn’t see the details, only the dark silhouette, a wild crown of hair, but Yugi swayed where he stood, suddenly lightheaded. He sucked in a sharp breath, stumbled backwards until his shoulders bumped up against the door of the house.

It was watching him. He could practically feel its gaze boring into him, and Yugi threw a hand over his eyes to block out the sight.

Cold spots of air were one thing but _that_ ….

_ That _ was the actual spectre of whatever lurked around the island. Lingered in rooms and doorways. Hovered just behind him.

Watching and listening and waiting.

Something Ryou had determined was not a victim. Some kind of predator?

Yugi released a long breath, trying to calm his frantic heart. He’d just spent all day wondering where it was, and now he knew. There was nowhere to run to, or hide.

When he finally found the courage to lower his hands and open his eyes, there was no one standing on the deck.

He let out another shaky exhale. The beacon was waiting for him, and surely the ghost would be too. And there was nowhere to go on this island but towards it.

*

The air inside the tower was cool and damp, and Yugi grimaced when the light switch on the wall didn’t work. Of _course_ it didn’t. So he held out the lantern and cautiously made his way up the stairs. When he reached the watch room he peeked in.

No one was there. So he entered, tried to tread quietly over the metal floor, and turned on the beacon.

Unlike the interior lights, it hummed to life with no complaint. Yugi didn’t want to stay up here any longer than necessary, so he looked for the logbook, his usual one, along with whatever Ryou had put aside.

Except there was no sign of them. Not by the control panel, or on top of the stool, or on the floor. He swung the lantern around to look at the shelf. The manuals were still in a jumbled heap, but the logbooks were all there, neatly lined up and packed into the bottom shelf.

The newest one was tucked in there too, on the end. No indication of which ones Ryou might have read, or wanted him to see.

Yugi didn’t dare look around for the ghost, though it was here somewhere. Watching him. A hair-raising sixth sense was prickling down his spine. What was it trying to hide? He crouched down and pulled out the newest one, so he could write today's entry.

He stared at the long row of others for a minute.

There was no way he could continue like this. Ignorance was only feeding his fear. With knowledge he could hope to appease the ghost. Or something. So Yugi reached out and pulled a handful of the oldest ones off the shelf too, and with a stack of books in his sweating hands, he retreated from the tower.

*

The ghost followed him out, invisible and cold. An hour ago it might have brought some vague sense of relief, to know where it was. But he had just _seen it_ and _it had looked back_ and Yugi couldn’t help but feel like he’d trespassed in some way. That it wasn’t meant to be seen, and now some dark punishment would be brought down upon him at any moment.

But maybe not. A cold air blew past him into the house. Yugi shivered just inside the door, with his armload of books, and the lantern in hand. He hesitated there, thinking about what Ryou had suggested the night before. Was he _supposed_ to talk to it? Explain what he was doing with the logbooks? Apologize for being here on its island?

_ Treat it like a socially oblivious roommate _ , Malik had casually suggested. It sounded simple at the time, but now Yugi felt at a loss. He had never even lived with anyone aside from his family.

He swallowed, trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” he said to the air. “My name is Yugi. I hope it’s alright if I stay here.”

Minutes passed with no response, and he felt a little stupid for talking out loud, and then waiting for it to reply. It hadn’t spoken yet, so why would it start now?

Slowly, he stepped out of his boots. He crossed the room and placed the logbooks down. Honestly, he had no intention of opening them up now. Night definitely felt like the worst possible time to sit down and read them. They could wait until daylight.

He’d spend the hours doing less frightful things.

Yugi added more coal and stoked the furnace. It was a hot and efficient little thing once it was going, its vents piping hot air to all the rooms of the house. It banished most of the chill from the air, so when he looked around the room it seemed to Yugi that maybe the ghost was across the room, by the window. A cold draft leaching through the glass? Or the cold chill of a brooding ghost? At least he had an idea of where it was.

Yugi kept clear of it as he ate a lackluster meal of canned chicken noodle soup and a dessert of canned pineapple. And when that was done, he gave another furtive glance to the window before heading to take a shower.

*

The water pressure was average, but felt like a jetstream compared to the lukewarm dribble he got in the cramped little shower stall back in the fuel house. Yugi cranked it as hot as it would go and scrubbed sweat and mud and salt water from his skin. Lathered up his hair. Let the water stream over him. A hot shower could make anything more bearable.

When he finally turned off the faucet, the bathroom air was frigid despite the steam. Yugi shivered and wrapped a thin towel around himself as he glanced to the door. It was still closed.

Just cold air. Nothing to panic over. He leaned over the sink to brush his teeth and froze.

Not just cold air.

Its presence was in the room. The shadows in the room had taken on that strange, unnatural density. Every hair on his body stood up with a shiver.

And it wasn’t invisible anymore.

It was _here_ and it was _solid_ and it was _standing right behind him._

Yugi felt like he’d been turned to lead. Couldn’t turn or run or scream or breathe. Could only watch as an arm reached around his left shoulder, bronze skin laden with gold jewelry. An elegant hand, heavy with rings, stretched towards the fogged glass.

In the condensation, it spelled something out:

A T E M

And in the mirror, through the clear streaks of the letters, Yugi’s eyes met the red eyes of the ghost.


	5. Chapter 5

_“After noticing the light was out, coast guard officials arrived on the scene and found the body at about 3 a.m. Tuesday. No one else was in the area at the time. Suicides are not unusual at the landmark, said Officer Byrne, who had no official numbers to report. She added that there were no signs of a struggle and no weapon was found at the scene. Grady, 63, had lived a troubled life and, according to documentation found on site, suffered from persistent hallucinations prior to his death, said Byrne.” ~_ The Harbour Times, June 10th, 1982

*

Seconds dragged by. The ghost held Yugi’s gaze through the reflection in the mirror, finger tips resting against the wet glass, the weight of its presence against his back, all of it boxing Yugi in.

It didn’t move. It waited. Yugi shifted his focus a fraction, from those _eyes_ to the letters that were starting to fog over.

“…Atem?” he breathed. What did that mean?

But the ghost nodded the tiniest bit when Yugi spoke and it withdrew, fading away from where it had crowded against him back into something invisible once again. It drifted through the closed door, taking the cold air with it, and the lights flickered out, plunging the bathroom into darkness.

Yugi’s knees gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, curling in over himself, clutching his toothbrush like it was the only real thing in the world. There was a deafening throb in his head like he’d just gone and stuck it inside the foghorn.

Had the ghost just _introduced itself_?

*

When he finally was able to stand again and the odd ringing had faded from his ears, Yugi groped his way through the dark to his clothes. Once dressed, he peeked out the door into the warmly lit main room.

It was empty of any presence. Yugi let out a small sigh. And then scowled.

The incomplete jigsaw puzzle was on the table, along with only one journal. The current one. The ghost… Atem? had moved the others.

Falling somewhere between the exhaustion of an adrenaline crash and irritation, Yugi took a resigned seat at the table. He opened up the journal left for him to write the day’s entry. Once he had detailed Malik and Ryou’s departure, he didn’t close it. Hesitated with his hands on the pages.

He didn’t think he would ever be ready for this. But the ghost wasn’t here right now, and that was perhaps as good as it was going to get. It felt like an all-or-nothing situation, and wishing there was _nothing to know_ had just been soundly shattered by the ghost’s writing on the mirror.

Yugi let out a nervous breath and flipped to the very first page.

Most of it was illegible, the paper warped and blurred by water stains. The first date he could make out was for some time five years earlier. The keeper had chicken-scratch writing; brief but personal lines in between weather reports.

_…Tom is a little shit. I wish I had never come. Ten more years would be better than this hell._

_…I just want to leave. Tom says it’s all in my head, but he hasn’t seen it._

_… It knows what I did. It won’t let me leave but it won’t let me live._

The handwriting abruptly changed to someone else. A change in the keeper, to someone with wide looping script that filled pages upon pages spanning nearly three years. Large segments were washed out, but there were still parts, buried amongst the mundane, that spoke of something else.

_…High winds from the SE. Took off the weather vane, and waves so high the tower flooded. They said this was a good program, we’d get skills to prepare us for life in the real world. This place doesn’t feel like the real world. It’s more of a prison than the one I left ………._

_…We fought again……… from the top, and no sign below. There’s nothing to be seen ……… Good riddance to the bastard._

_…It gets in your mind. Fills you up like a fog. Drives you mad. Makes you remember what you did. But it wasn’t my fault._

_………they’ll send someone soon, once the fog breaks. I can’t be left alone here ……..… The world is full of heroes and traitors. Was it so bad what I did, that I deserve this?_

_…No one is coming for me. I am forgotten. Perhaps hell will be a kinder place than this. May god forgive me._

The handwriting changed again, indicating another sudden change in the keeper, and Yugi had to close the book. The ghost was back, an invisible wave of cold coming from the window, and he felt sick to his stomach.

“Is this what you do to everyone?” Yugi asked, voice and heart tight with fear. “Keep them here until they kill themselves?”

He immediately regretted speaking his question aloud. His words summoned its attention, and with the inexplicable awareness of its focus came a scattering of goosebumps up his arms. It crossed the room, not even a shimmer in the air as it moved towards him, but he could feel it, closing the gap between them. Yugi stumbled out of the chair, backing away as it approached, until he was cornered, trapped with the searing heat of the furnace behind him and a transparent wall of ice before him.

“Don’t touch me,” Yugi begged, as a cool hand brushed against his arm.

It listened, and there was space between them again. Yugi felt his heart start to beat, finding his breath again as the panicked din in his mind waned.

“I don’t want to die here,” he said as forcefully as he could. Let it be known. _Set boundaries_ , Malik had suggested, and this seemed like a vital one.

The ghost, Atem, was still for a moment, and then its presence retreated back across the room.

Yugi didn’t speak to it again, and the ghost kept its distance for the rest of the night.

*

Yugi spent the hours huddled in front of the furnace with a blanket pulled up and over his head. Indecipherable thoughts buzzed through his mind, unable to pull them away from the ghost that hovered in the room behind him. Atem. Bronze skin, deep red eyes. All that bright gold jewelry hidden under a heavy cloak and the cowl around his neck. An entity that could take up a solid occupancy on the world of this island when it wanted to.

_It won’t let us leave but it won’t let us live._

Who was he? Why was he here? What did he want?

Yugi couldn’t even begin to guess at any answers, but his mind was so preoccupied with the questions that he was surprised when dawn arrived. The entire night had passed uneventfully once again, outside of his own turbulent thoughts. So he tiptoed through the house, skirted past the ghost, and up to the tower.

Though now that he had mulled it over, Yugi had to confess he felt just a little emboldened by the ghost’s unexpected cooperation. Yugi had introduced himself, and the ghost had done the same, in its own unconventional way. And when it came too close, it stopped when he asked. _Socially oblivious roommate,_ indeed. Yugi turned off the beacon, and when he returned to the keeper’s quarters it was with his arms full of logbooks once again. Third time might be the charm.

The ghost was by the window, unseen but watchful.

Yugi set the books on the table. “Please don’t move these,” he said aloud, wondering if this simple request would be acknowledged. Should he explain himself? “I’m just trying to learn more…” he started, then trailed off. Not sure if he should say _about this place_ or _about you_ or _about how to avoid losing my mind_.

Perhaps it didn’t matter. The ghost’s presence faded away, taking the chill with it.

Yugi shifted. Had he upset it? Offended it?

Was it just going about its own ghostly business?

Ten minutes later, as he was painstakingly trying to decipher the aged entries of the first and oldest journal, the foghorn blared, and he spilled hot tea all over himself.

*

_Saturday, the 6 th of July, 1850. Clear. Visibility 15 miles. Wind East. Sea state choppy. Swells moderate._

_Received good news today. Seems the Earl’s wife will be returning to England. Her health has greatly improved since coming to Crawford Sound, and we are all relieved. Without Cyndia, the young Earl was suffering from a mania—grandiose ideas, emotional and irritable. However, with her health restored, it seems he is able to put the past behind him and instead look to the future. I am grateful he has appointed an old man such as myself with tending to the lighthouse as part of his great legacy._

*

When the foghorn finally stopped its unwelcome bellowing, Yugi put aside the books and went upstairs. He’d opted for the smaller of the two rooms, for no reason other than to occupy as little space here as possible. Still, as simple as it was, the room was a substantial improvement from the fuel house. It had a sturdy oak dresser, with a matching bed frame. On the twin mattress were stale but otherwise clean sheets he’d pulled from the small closet. As old as it all was, this was far better than what he’d been using.

And though he now knew the ghost could walk through walls, it was comforting all the same to have a door between him and the rest of the house.

None the less sleep took a while to come and he slept in short spurts. He startled awake whenever his dreams filled with the call of dark waters and the piercing gaze of something unseen watching him.

By the time the afternoon sun was coming through the window Yugi gave up and, decidedly unrested, went back downstairs. The sun was streaming in the window here too, and for a delirious second, Yugi thought he could see the golden outline of the ghost standing there, looking out. The strange illusion was gone in a blink. Invisible, as usual. But it was not looking at him. Ignoring him?

That was probably best.

Yugi paused again when he saw the logbooks were exactly where he had left them. He looked between them and the window. It made him nervous and surprised and unsure and maybe even relieved.

He settled on a tentative gratitude. “Thank you,” he blurted out, and then quickly ducked into the kitchen, starting up the kettle. The ghost didn’t respond in any way Yugi could tell. And that was okay by him.

So a few minutes later, with a mug of tasteless instant coffee in hand, he returned to the room to take a seat at the table in the chair furthest from the window. Not beside the journals – he was far too tired to pour over more brittle pages of faded cursive script — but by the incomplete jigsaw puzzle he’d laid out the day before. Also untouched by the ghost. Nothing had been moved at all.

There was some kind of consolation in finding his things undisturbed. Over the past week there had been too many items mislaid or spotted floating out of the corner of his eye, and it set his nerves on edge every time. And this afternoon all he wanted was to sit and be unmolested by the paranormal. Undisturbed as he compensated for sleeplessness with caffeine.

And maybe to glance out of the corner of his eye at the empty corner where the ghost stood, entirely transparent and still.

There wasn’t anything to see, but he ended up staring anyway, an unfocused gaze towards the window, lost in thought. Did the ghost often stand there? Passing long, bored, sleepless hours, watching the sun set over the Sound? Day after day and year after year? How long _had_ it haunted this island? Since 1850 when the logbooks started? Or even earlier?

Yugi placed his mug on the table and, too tired to think better of it, he picked up one of the wooden chairs to walk it across the room. He set it down slowly and, keeping his distance from the cool presence of the ghost, pushed it towards the window.

“In case you want to sit,” he said by way of explanation as he backed away, all of a sudden certain that he’d made a hundred dumb assumptions and this was a terrible, terrible idea.

He still nearly leapt out of his skin when the chair moved seemingly on its own, pivoting to a different angle. The stuff of nightmares, Yugi was certain. But it wasn’t waved about, or tossed away. Once satisfied with its position, directly in the sunny window, the ghost didn’t move it again.

Yugi shuffled quickly to his own seat. With maybe one or two more looks back to the window, he kept sipping his coffee and absently slotted a piece into the incomplete puzzle spread across the table.

*

_Saturday, the 14 th of May, 1853. Overcast. Mod. visibility. Rain showers. Wind South. Sea smooth, mod. swells._

_The ship came to the Sound with supplies and news today. A welcome reprieve from my own company. The captain tells me the Earl’s wife is pregnant. It is my deepest wish to offer my congratulations to Maximillian. But though I have known him since he was a boy, he refuses to visit me here. He will not even reply to my letters, and it weighs on this old man’s heart. It feels as though he has forgotten me here._

*

It was late in the day on Friday, five days since Atem had introduced himself, when a heavy rain arrived. It drummed steadily against the roof and the walls and the windows. Yugi started the furnace, hopeful it would take the dampness out of the air. There was no convenient way to remove the _cold_.

There had been a cautious, circuitous pace to things between them as the days went by. Mostly Yugi being cautious as he tried to be simultaneously very clear about announcing everything he was doing, and as unobtrusive as possible. The ghost kept its distance as well, invisible and no longer trailing everywhere behind Yugi. There was rarely even the prickle of a shiver up Yugi’s spine that came with its unseen gaze. But it was definitely there.

And after a few days of it, Yugi decided it was just as weird and unsettling as when the ghost had hounded his every step. It was awkward _knowing_ there was someone here, someone with a name, and a face. And yet both of them were making every effort to steer clear of each other. Yugi found he could avoid it, but there was no _ignoring_ it. There was no one else here to distract him, and he couldn’t help but spend every waking moment tuned to the ghost’s presence wherever it lingered.

He had slipped into his rubber boots, and was pulling on his heavy yellow raincoat to head out to the lighthouse when he turned towards the empty chair and the cold spot of air.

“Atem,” he said, quiet and hesitant. But speaking its name drew the ghost's attention immediately. He still didn’t know if it was just his imagination or something real that made him think he could feel its eyes on him. Yugi shivered all the same, but extended the olive branch he’d been considering all day. “I want you to know it’s okay if you come with me to the lighthouse. If you want.”

Before Yugi could regret his offer, the chair toppled over and there was a rush of cold air billowing up beside him. It took his breath away, and he staggered back, though the ghost didn’t crowd him any further.

“O-okay,” Yugi managed as he readied himself to step out the door. “I guess you’re coming.” Even in this pouring rain. Maybe ghosts didn’t care about the weather.

Yugi had to admit _he_ did care about the weather. He ran across the muddy path, hood up and head bowed against the pelting rain. Inside the lighthouse, he spent a second shaking himself off, missing the dry heat of the furnace and the house already. But the sooner he was done here, the sooner he could be back. He hadn’t yet replaced the burned-out bulbs along the stairs, so he ascended with the lantern held out before him.

Halfway up, his nerves finally caught up to him and he had the despairing thought that he shouldn’t have invited the ghost to follow him. Yugi eyed his shadow that was walking up the wall beside him. Was that his own? Or Atem? It seemed unusually dark, almost viscous, and it ignited some distant, alarmed instinct within him.

Attempting to pacify his fears, Yugi waved his free hand to watch his shadow respond.

It didn’t.

It moved independently, continued up a step before twisting as though turning to look back at him. At the same time, Yugi tripped and gasped. His shins bashed hard on a step and he dropped the lantern, and fear swooped through him as he toppled towards the open edge of the stairwell—

A swift hand caught his. It stopped him from falling any further and Yugi found himself staring up at Atem’s concerned face. He was here. Had emerged right out of Yugi’s shadow on the wall to extend a helping hand. And he was as before: gleaming jewelry on the arm that held him, and the rest of him shrouded in the folds of a navy cloak, a thick cowl around his shoulders.

But this time they were face to face. His angular features, illuminated by the toppled lantern, were undeniably handsome. So far removed from the images called to mind by any ghost story Yugi had ever heard before.

Yugi couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. A rushing howl of wind or waves drowned out any thoughts from his mind, and Atem’s eyes shifted from Yugi’s face to where he held him. He released their joined hands like Yugi’s skin was on fire, and Yugi collapsed with an _oof_ into the stairs.

Atem had vanished by the time Yugi picked himself back up. So he nursed his bruises until his shock and fright and adrenaline passed.

Yugi’s shadow was normal again as he continued up the stairs, but he didn’t test it again. Instead he started the beacon absent-mindedly, still distracted by the sight of the ghost. It felt like it had been burned into his mind, and it left him breathless more than the near-fall.

The ghost kept its distance until Yugi made it back down to the base of the tower where there was a cool cloud of air waiting by the door.

*

_Saturday, the 23 rd of January, 1854. Obscured. 0 visibility. Heavy snow. Winds north and gusting. Strait frozen over._

_These days I cannot help but recall the Earl’s fixation on the young Pasha whose so briefly visited here. The disagreement between them. The ill omens._

_I imagine the Earl grieves for all the souls lost in that storm. I think of how their deaths drove him to erect this lighthouse to prevent any other tragedies here. I should not doubt him. He is a good man. I must write to him again, ask him to relieve me of my service here though I begin to fear he sent me here as punishment rather than a commendation._

*

The weekend came and went no different from any other day of the week. Yugi going about his business, and Atem often an unseen presence nearby. The ghost would sometimes go off on his own, and Yugi wasn’t quite sure what drove him to seek solitude or where he went. But he always returned a few hours later, taking up his place by the window, or hovering a respectful distance away, just close enough to look over Yugi’s shoulder.

Meanwhile Yugi found himself settling, both physically and mentally, into the nocturnal routine of the lighthouse. Sleep made all the difference in the world. Allowed the charged undercurrent of anxiety that had held him to dissipate.

And with a clear head, he came to understand his invisible companion’s moods. Nothing malicious, mostly alternating bouts of brooding and curious. For all he expected otherwise, it was easy to live with.

Usually.

Yugi was _trying_ to enjoy a mid-afternoon breakfast of instant oats. He was sitting cross-legged on a chair at the table, snapping together pieces of the second puzzle from Joey.

Atem was in the room too, pacing circles from what Yugi could tell. It was distracting enough that he pushed his bowl away and looked up to where he thought it was.

“Atem.” As soon as he spoke the ghost's name, the prowling wave of air stopped. “Do you want to work on the puzzle?” he tried.

There were no words, but almost instantly a piece floated into place, followed rapidly by a second and third. And then there was a quick rustle through the sea of pieces in the box for a fourth.

Yugi found the response vindicating but also unsettling. Day after day, there was no getting used to things that appeared to move on their own.

The roving presence, the lingering cold, had all come to be normal. But the intersection of invisible interacting with the visible set him on edge. Even if he knew who and what it was, it twisted something in his gut. And he didn’t know how to express it without offending his invisible companion.

Atem’s apparent enthusiasm faltered when Yugi didn’t join in. The pieces on the table stopped moving, and that sensation of _watching and waiting_ filled the air. For Yugi to say or do something.

Was there a tactful way to say this? It’s not like Atem could help being a _ghost._ And Yugi had never been good at speaking up when something bothered him. Had always dreaded the risk of violence, or shouting that had been so common in high school. And that fear had followed him into adulthood. But Atem was always quiet. He listened.

So Yugi took a deep breath and spoke his mind. “When you move things around… it makes me uncomfortable.” Nauseous. Paranoid. A whole slew of things.

Atem was gone across the room in a heartbeat.

“No!” Yugi was up from the table, trying to apologize. “What I mean is you don’t have to hide from me.”

The words were out, and Yugi hardly even realized what he’d said. He stopped in the middle of the room, alone and _not alone_ with an invisible ghost, who had halted in its retreat.

“If… if you want to be…” Yugi tried to think of words that seemed right. “Visible. Around me. It’s okay. It would be easier for me. I think.” No, there was definitely no way to say that except awkwardly, Yugi thought.

There was stillness and silence between them as a long minute crawled by. Yugi was certain he’d messed this up. Said something weird or wrong or insensitive.

But just as he was about to turn away, a gravity pulled at the air, at shadows from around the room, drawing them together into something dense. And where there had been emptiness before, now Atem was there, standing before Yugi. There was a proud tilt to his head, posture tall, but his eyes, _those eyes_ that looked right into Yugi’s soul, were wary. His cloak was pulled protectively around him, nothing exposed except for the toes of two leather shoes from beneath the hem.

He looked real. Solid. But there was an unmistakable tension in the air. Something otherworldly. An unnatural aura around him that was like static against Yugi’s senses. He wasn’t a living person. And Atem’s expression said he was clearly aware of that fact as well.

They stared at each other, Yugi taking in this apparition, and Atem silently waiting for his reaction.

Yugi could hardly string together two coherent words. Something _awed_ in his heart and some _horrified_ instinct in his mind warred within him.

“Sorry,” he finally coughed out. “I didn’t mean to stare—” he turned away quickly, and returned to his chair. Tried to act as though this was all perfectly normal, while thoughts of _panic_ and _victory_ pulled him apart from the inside. “Come on, I think you might be better at this than me,” he said around the lump in his throat. He forced his attention back to the puzzle as everything reeled within him, his heart and mind a spinning top about to topple over.

Atem cautiously slid into the seat opposite him. He reached a hand out from the folds of his cloak, and without taking his eyes off of Yugi, exaggerated the movement of slowly picking up a piece and fitting it into place.

Yugi forced himself to meet his gaze. Tried to find safe words to speak that had nothing to do with the ghost, or the turbulence inside himself. “I’ll probably have to ask Joey to bring some more puzzles.”

Atem’s smile was genuine and breathtaking. And Yugi’s heart won out over any common sense.

*

_Saturday, the 25 th of August, 1855. Obscured. No wind. Sea rough. Swells low._

_I have seen it. It brings life or death, and I know now that the Earl of Crawford chose to curse us all. God damn his soul, and may the lord have mercy on mine._

*

When the puzzle was done, they turned to the deck of cards. Games were safe, and easy, and familiar, no matter the company. And Atem was obviously thrilled. So Yugi taught him crazy eights and when that didn’t seem to be challenging enough, kings in the corner. Then Atem, still mute, wanted to teach Yugi a game. They worked out a few rudimentary signs as Atem tried to communicate the complicated rules, but even after a few rounds Yugi wasn’t entirely sure he understood the scoring system, or exactly how one might win.

Still he wasn’t going to give up. Yugi was deeply focused on his hand of cards when Atem rapped his knuckles on the table to get his attention. He pointed to the window, and Yugi could hardly believe it was almost dark already.

Yugi said a hurried _thank you_ as he rushed to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

But Atem was beside him, silent and sudden, and Yugi stammered in surprise. “O-oh. Sure, you can come if you want.”

He did. Atem trailed behind Yugi, the same as when he was invisible. Up to the top of the tower and back down to the house. And Yugi wasn’t bothered by it, because as soon as they were back inside, they were back into the card games, and Yugi had never known such effortlessly good company in his life.

The journals fell to the wayside. Yugi stopped making time to scour the faded ink for cryptic warnings. He knew who the ghost was. He had a face and a name. And the fears of the past hardly seemed important in the here and now.

*

_11 December 1862. All I see is red. Red like its eyes. Red like the serpent. Red like the Earl’s coat. Red like the blood on my hands. There are none who will miss me._

*

Days passed, and Yugi tried to be discomforted by what his life had become. But instead, more and more, he found himself incapable of living without Atem nearby. A comforting assurance that he was not alone here. A presence that erased the solitude of the island.

Atem wasn’t _always_ around, and not always in his solid state, but he usually was. And so Yugi would talk aloud to him openly, and Atem would knock or clap or move things to get his attention, tell him things in his own way, much the same as he had before he had revealed himself. But now that those noises and movements were accompanied by the sight of a friend, unconventional as he may be, Yugi was unbothered by it.

The routine was easy to settle into, and his heart was light with the simplicity of it. And he slowly learned a little more about Atem, beyond moods and games.

It started with the CD player.

Joey had brought a few disks beyond _Dance Hits 2000_ , nothing quite that bad, but also nothing particularly inspired. So Yugi cycled through them, usually listening while in the kitchen and waiting for the kettle to boil, or a can of soup to heat up.

Atem was largely indifferent to it, but tonight Yugi was playing a mix of _Beethoven’s Greatest Hits_ , and the ghost curiously poked his head into the kitchen.

Yugi noticed his piqued interest immediately. “Do you know this song?”

He nodded, and Yugi was briefly elated. Atem had offered no insight into who he might have been while living, and existence on the island was so isolated that he made for an enigmatic time capsule. But Beethoven was a pretty solid historical milestone, and Yugi would take what he could get. “You can turn it up if you want.”

Instead of reaching for the device, Atem relaxed against the doorframe and gave him a wry smile.

The light of the beacon was turning outside through the night, and Yugi turned to lean against the counter opposite Atem. “What?” Yugi said as he ate his soup straight out of the pot. “Do you have a problem with Beethoven?”

Atem shook his head. No, that wasn’t it. His left hand reached out from beneath the cloak he always wore, and his fingers hesitated above the volume dial. With an apologetic glance to Yugi he touched it. The reaction was instant - the whole thing short-circuited with a flurry of sparks, and there was a grating sound of the disk scratching inside as the little stereo fell silent.

Yugi stared at the fried CD player, agape, spoon halfway to his mouth. “You _totally_ could have found another way to tell me that.”

Atem’s expression went from apologetic to amused.

“So, what? You’re not good with modern technology?”

He shrugged, and Yugi took his casual indifference to mean something like _modern technology is not good with_ me.

Fair enough. Yugi wasn’t _too_ upset about the CD player, though he would definitely have to apologize whenever Joey returned. And speaking of Joey… two weeks had gone by since Malik and Ryou had been whisked away by the coast guard, and there’d been no word from anyone since.

Things were fine here, but he would be glad for a visit. Joey and his little seaplane coming up the coast with news from Hawkins Harbour and the outside world, and a load of fresh supplies. Yugi had gone through the pantry one afternoon and organized everything. While there was plenty to get him through another two weeks before the meals turned especially bleak, there was only so much canned food one could bear to eat. He would give anything for a fresh salad. And this was coming from someone whose favourite food was a greasy diner burger.

And he had a growing list of asks for things he wanted at the lighthouse. Joey would probably be confused by the number of two player games. But more than that, maybe he could bring some kind of encyclopaedia of the 1800s, so Yugi could try to pinpoint the _when_ and the _where_ and the _who_ of Atem.

Yugi voiced this last wish out loud, and regretted it when Atem’s face fell. He turned sad and distant, where a second before his eyes and smile had held such warmth. Shifting from the present moment with Yugi to something in the past. Grieving things he had lost.

It had happened a few times before, and it was always easy for Yugi to recognize. He had known his own loss. So Yugi apologized softly as Atem’s form faded into nothing. Didn’t chase him as the ghost drifted away into the night of the island.

Hours later, the ghost returned. Yugi had fallen asleep over a game of solitaire, slouched over the cards with his head pillowed on his arms. Atem woke him by knocking quietly on the table top, and directed him to sleep upstairs.

Yugi yawned and obliged. He doubted he would sleep long, just a nap to get him through the wee hours of the night, but if he did sleep late Atem would make sure he was up in time to turn off the beacon at dawn.

Always attentive to the rising and falling of the sun. Always trying to watch out for Yugi.

He was good like that.

*

 _1877 October 9._ I wish to repent my sins, but there is no god here, only the devil.

*

September had arrived, and Yugi had the furnace going to fight off a particularly nippy chill in the morning air. The beacon was off, the foghorn was on, and Yugi was in a chair by the fire. His feet were propped up on the stone hearth and he was making his way through the crossword book Joey had given him.

His toes were toasty, but the rest of him hadn’t warmed up yet. No rush. A sweater could wait a minute longer. He was nearly done this one, busily filling in a row of boxes with _THYME_ , a five-letter word for _Aromatic herb._

At least, he was cold until a weight settled around him. A blanket draped carefully over his shoulders. Yugi paused what he was doing to smile at Atem.

There was, however, a niggling thought instead at the back of his mind. He meant to ask something. The clue in the crossword had jumped out at him. Herb. The old man’s broken arm. His insistence that the ghost was here to harm.

But when Yugi looked at Atem, he saw only benevolence. Someone who knew loneliness. A kindred spirit. And when their eyes met, there was a fond gratitude reflected back at him.

Herb must have been startled by his shadow in the stairs and taken a fall, as Yugi nearly had. An unfortunate but innocent enough mistake. It wasn’t Atem’s fault. So Yugi let the question go, and asked something else.

“Do you want to sit beside me? Pull up the chair. You can’t see anything out the window in this fog anyway.”

Atem did just that, pushing the seat of his chair right up against Yugi’s. He sat with his cloak wound around him, just one arm exposed, leaning his elbow on Yugi’s chair with his chin in hand. He curled over Yugi’s shoulder to watch him scribble away.

They were close, but never touching, though there was something in the air between them. A prickle of static, more than cold. The involuntary scattering of goosebumps up Yugi’s arm and neck felt familiar and comforting instead of unsettling.

And the morning hours passed, peaceful and quiet, with the little house on the island wrapped in its own thick blanket of fog.

*

_May 24 th ‘21. Dying in the war would have been a kinder fate than this. The weight of my crimes will drown me. I am guilty, and I surrender myself willingly to those jaws._

*

The birds that nested in the bluff were preparing to migrate. Flocks of young gannets and gulls filled in the air outside the tower, testing the wind. And there were more arriving, joining them from the coast, stopping to crowd along the railing and on the platform that circled the top of the lighthouse.

Today the wind was pushing heavy, low clouds towards the coast while the roll of waves against the rocks sent an occasional spray of salt water up against the tower that reached almost to the top.

The birds scattered with indignant shrieks when Yugi stepped outside into the deck, Atem following behind. He had yellow rubber gloves on and a bucket of soapy water to clean the windows that surrounded the beacon. He liked the birds, but the shit and feathery down got _everywhere_. Yugi made a disgusted face when the first swipe of the cloth against the glass came away almost black.

Gross.

After washing only one panel of the windows, he already needed a fresh bucket of water. He wrung out the dirty cloth and carefully stripped off the gloves.

“Hey, Atem—” Yugi turned to talk to him and burst into laughter.

Half a dozen birds were perched on and around the ghost, oblivious to him where they had been insulted by Yugi. Atem looked unsure of how to get them to leave. When he tried to shake them from his shoulders and head, they just flapped and settled back down with a ruffle of feathers.

Before Atem decided to vanish into nothing, depriving them of their perch, and Yugi of his presence, Yugi came to his rescue, waving his arms to shoo the birds away.

“I guess they like you,” he said, still laughing, and he brushed specs of down and grit from the thick cowl around Atem’s neck. The navy cloak hung still and heavy around him, it didn’t move with the wind that buffeted the tower, so Yugi was surprised by how real the fabric felt under his fingers. Dry and thick, a supple weight to it that testified the quality of the garment. Wonderingly, he smoothed his hand over it. He could feel the soft texture, the firm shoulder underneath.

And then his eyes caught Atem’s. There was a heat in them that made his breath catch, and he realised too late that he was close. Too close. But Atem was backed against the guardrail. It was Yugi who had stepped in, whose own hand had crossed the proverbial line in the sand, had broken his own rule of _don’t touch_. Neither of them moved.

His heart hammered in his chest and the sound of waves rushed in his ears. He felt frozen for a moment, before stammering a belated apology. But when he tried to pull back, Atem just as quickly caught his hand. Held him there. Didn’t want him to leave.

Yugi didn’t want to either. He was electrified by the contact, the heat of himself at odds with the cold form of Atem. So he let himself sink back towards him, drawn in by the strange gravity that surrounded Atem. He was so much more than a ghost. Yugi’s right hand was held against Atem’s shoulder, kept in place by a firm hand, under all those glittering rings and rubies, and Yugi felt the touch of his other hand against his hip, gently drawing him closer. Yugi let himself be pulled in, boldly reached his own hand under that cloak to feel the body hidden underneath. But his eyes were wholly focused on Atem’s intense gaze.

There was something inscrutable in his expression, like he wanted desperately to say something. But Atem had no breath to speak with. It didn’t matter to Yugi, he could hardly breathe himself right now. Instead of words, he felt Atem’s fingers grip him tightly. And Yugi’s heart raced wildly as Atem bowed his head to press their brows together.

The immediate, splitting headache was blinding. He jerked back with gasp, and Atem practically flung Yugi away from himself. With a groan, Yugi tried to bring his hands up to cradle his face, to block out the pain, but froze.

His left hand had come away from under Atem’s robes slick with blood. It was dark and red and dripping down his arm.

His eyes went wide, and his scream died on his lips as he collapsed.

*

_13 th of March, 1930. How many Keepers have died in the Sound? So many before me are said to have drowned. I tell you, it is a lie. They all jumped, and I will too. The Earl of Crawford knows what is happening. He must. And yet he invites people here, over and over again, same as his father before him._

*

Yugi woke up in his bed, back in the house. He was tucked in under several blankets, and a dim afternoon light filtered through the window. He was alone in the room, and the house was quiet, and he relaxed back into the pillow.

Until the memory crashed into him. With a sharp inhale, the blankets were flung away, and Yugi jolted up to look at his hands.

There was nothing to see. No sign of blood, and there was no sensation of the painful migraine that had knocked him out. He let out a shaky sigh. What the hell had happened?

Then he buried his blushing face in his hands. _What the hell had he been doing?_

A little over a month into his stay on what basically amounted to a deserted island, and he was throwing himself at the very-dead _ghost_ that haunted the place. His only company here. He was so _stupid._

And then he had to go and, what? Hallucinate? Pass out and be carried back to the house? He fell back into bed, mortified.

But Atem’s hand over his had felt so real. And his eyes had looked at Yugi like no one ever had before.

Yugi’s heart wouldn’t stop thundering inside of him, as he lifted his hands to examine them again, looking at both sides. He was clean now, but the blood hidden under thick layers of robes had felt just as wet and real as everything else.

He hadn’t thought much about how Atem might have died, and it had never seemed appropriate to ask. Had assumed he had drowned in some shipwreck. But it now seemed that his past might be far more terrible than Yugi had realized. And he’d accidentally gone and stuck his hand right into that deep wound.

*

_1954-Sept-24 — This is not the fresh start I was promised. There is no forgiveness. No freedom. I am a prisoner here but I will release myself. Let the light go dark. Let the sea have what it wants._

*

Yugi’s embarrassment kept him confined to his room until the sun was setting, and duty finally called him back to the lighthouse. He was also ready to see Atem. To apologise if he’d offended him, or hurt him, or any manner of insult or injury.

But he wasn’t in the house. Not even a wisp of him.

He wasn’t in the tower either, when Yugi climbed the stairs to the top. He even stepped out onto the deck, birds flapping away from their roost as he intruded. The wind had died down, and a purple sky was chasing the last light of the sun. But there was no sign of the ghost.

So Yugi went back and turned on the light. He trailed his hands along the wall as he descended the stairs, but there was nothing in his shadow.

Once outside, Yugi stood, feeling a little lost, bereft, as a moonless night settled in over the Sound. The sweeping beam of the lighthouse and the tiny lantern in his hand were the only things cutting through the darkness.

“Atem?” he called out. He almost always answered, sweeping up behind him in that smooth and silent way. But there was no reply now, not even a whisper of wind. Only the distant roar of waves and an encroaching fog crawling out of the ocean.

He must be off in his hiding spot. He would come back in time. But Yugi wanted to apologize _now._ Clear the awkward weight in his heart, and ask forgiveness for overstepping. So he went searching.

Yugi called to him, over and over. He stumbled over rocks barely lit by the thin light of his lantern. He checked the shambles of the fuel house. The outbuilding that sheltered the fog horn. And when he still couldn’t find him, Atem’s absence began to feed a deep fear within him.

The ghost had taken up residence in his life, built a place in every moment, and filled all the empty spaces on this desolate little island. And without him?

If he’d ever felt alone before in this life, it was nothing to standing outside in this quiet night. An island in an ocean, far from everything. No company but his own foolish regret, trapped with nothing but his gaping loneliness.

Yugi kept going. Made his way down to the boathouse, careful on the wet steps, descending into a thickening cloud. It was so dense down by the water that the feeble light of his lantern was swallowed by it. But it was here that he felt a presence. That now-familiar sense of being watched by something unseen.

“Atem!” he shouted, and he turned in a circle on the dock, trying to figure out where he might be. There was no shore to walk along. No ledges along the wall of the cliff.

Yugi found himself staring out over the Sound. The tide was low, and the water was smooth and black like ink and it stretched out under the blanket of fog. Could Atem leave the island? Had he drifted across the water to the abandoned houses that lay across the strait? Would Atem, who was always so close, have left him behind? The thought twisted painfully within him.

The motorboat bumped gently against the dock. And for a second, Yugi seriously considered it. Going out there to find him, beg him to please come back. To not leave him alone here.

No. He wasn’t _stupid_. He would wait until dawn. Wait for Atem to come back to him on his own. He always did. But still feeling desolate, Yugi turned away and made his way up the steps to the house, all the while upset that Atem would hide away somewhere he could not reach.

The whole way, he was watched.

*

_23/10/71. It wrote on the walls Betrayer. Betrayer. Betrayer. I burned the house down but it don’t matter. It lives in my mind._

*

Yugi waited the whole night, sitting in Atem’s chair by the window. But dawn broke, faint and grey, and his ghost had not returned.

The fog had thickened even further, a wall that cut off everything from sight. Only from the top of the lighthouse could he see over it, a clear sky above the dense, low cloud that had settled low across the strait. The air was cool, but the sun was rising and it would burn off in time. He stopped the light, and started the horn. The noise made him think of how Atem sometimes set it off, as though trying to scream with the voice he didn’t have.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Yugi took a seat on the stool beside the control panel. He folded over until his forehead rested against his knees, wrapped his arms around his head, and tried to breathe. _It’s going to be okay_ , he consoled himself. Atem just needed space. Yugi had asked too much of him. Pushed where he shouldn’t have.

He sat there for a while, hunched over. Let himself feel the deep vibrations of the foghorn.

And then it turned out to be a good thing he’d stayed here with his thoughts. The radio crackled, and a familiar voice interrupted his abjection.

It was Honda, from the coast guard, passing on a message from Hawkins Harbour. Joey would be flying in that afternoon to make a supply drop. But he would also be bringing the infamous Pegasus J. Crawford. He had some personal business on the mainland, but would also be wanting to visit with Yugi.

Yugi was elated by the news, of course, that Joey would be visiting. But even more so by the knowledge that, if Atem still hadn’t shown up by the afternoon, he would have a good reason to cross the Sound and look for him. Compared to that, meeting his employer barely even registered as something worth his concern.

So while the fog faded, Yugi went without sleep and buzzed restlessly as he tried to keep himself busy through the morning. He made the bed. Re-stacked the meagre selection of cans in the kitchen. Washed and hung a load of laundry to dry. Cleaned the bathroom. And perhaps stared into the mirror a little too long, not at his face, but at the spot where Atem had written his name. And the instant he heard the faint drum of propellers, Yugi was off like a flash towards the boathouse.

The boat rocked wildly beneath him as he stepped in, hurriedly clipping on a lifejacket and throwing off the dock lines. And as the plane was landing on the far side of the straight, Yugi ripped at the pull cord, letting the engine roar to life.

With more enthusiasm than skill, he headed across the way, rolling with the deep swells of high tide, heart thundering with the urgent desire to _find Atem._

The shore was further than it looked. He turned his head back to see how far he’d gone, and took in the lighthouse and the rocky island that seemed to gleam in the bright afternoon sun.

And he saw the boathouse, where a desperate Atem stood at the edge of the dock, robes billowing out around him from a frantic flight down the stairs, staring after Yugi.


	6. Chapter 6

_“Following a year-long investigation, Coast Guard Constable Barry Cooper confirmed Crown counsel will not be pursuing charges of criminal negligence causing death, or manslaughter against Lord Alexander Crawford, who is believed to have left a lighthouse keeper for dead after his boat capsized in May 1977. Cooper added that charges were dropped due to lack of evidence.”_ ~ The Harbour Times, August 18th, 1978

*

For a moment Yugi thought about turning back. Returning to that hopeless figure looking at him from the dock. Returning and making sure everything was right between them. He couldn’t see Atem’s face clearly from this distance, but his lungs still felt tight. He could imagine what he was feeling all too well. He had only been on the island a short while but knew very well that helplessness of watching people go.

Yugi also knew maybe a little resentment. If only Atem hadn’t hidden away all day and night, then he would know Yugi would be back in no time. Yugi wasn’t _leaving_. But how could he say that from out here?

A wave caught the broad side of the boat, sending it reeling towards a rock, and he had to look away. And when Yugi had control of the boat again, Atem was gone from sight.

At least he was still there, on the island. Had been there all along. Would still be there when he returned. It didn’t provide Yugi with much comfort though.

If Atem was there, that meant something else had been watching him from out across the water last night.

The question set off all the warnings at the back of his mind he’d been ignoring. There was a wind at the back of his neck, and in it he felt Ryou’s whispered words of caution. Could recall his haunted looks out towards the Sound. The logbooks full of madness and despair that had slowly but surely consumed every keeper that had come before him.

Yugi tried to speed up towards the opposite shore. There and back in no time, he told himself. It still felt like ages to cross the strait. High tide hid most of the rocks just below the surface, but some were still shallow enough to scrape along the hull of the boat. But soon he was close enough to see Joey’s face, waving to him from a short wharf, and someone with stark white hair standing further back on the shore.

Joey was grinning, or maybe it was closer to a grimace. He stopped Yugi’s boat from hitting the dock with a foot and grabbed the painter rope at the bow, as he shook his head in relief.

“Watching you try to drive this thing is enough to give me a heart attack. Nice work though,” he said as he helped guide the boat into place along the edge of the dock, and offered a hand to Yugi. “I didn’t mean for you to come over here, I was going to pick you up first but…” He cast a sour look over his shoulder. “He’s the boss.”

From the water Yugi had expected an old man, but as they walked onto the shore, he could see he’d been wrong. Probably in his mid-thirties, the man had straight white hair that fell just past his shoulders, and eyes that bored into Yugi. He was dressed well, in a tailored suit that was a striking contrast to Joey’s casual jeans and the heavy yellow raincoat Yugi had taken to wearing everywhere. But despite his youth, he was leaning heavily on a glossy black cane with a silver handle.

“Pegasus Crawford,” he drawled as Yugi and Joey approached. He had a smooth, melodic voice, but did not extend a hand in greeting. “You must be Yugi-boy.”

“Yugi is fine,” he said, trying not to let his annoyance show. He stuffed his hands into the deep pockets of his coat to keep from crossing his arms.

“I’ve heard such exceptional things about you, Yugi-boy,” he repeated, and Yugi was thrown by the rudeness of it. “I really just had to meet you myself!” He was still fixing Yugi with a gaze that wasn’t as friendly as his words. “Those poor boys whose ship sank last month! What an ordeal! Very lucky you were here to rescue them.”

Yugi was about to say something, but the distant bellow of the foghorn interrupted him. Joey jumped, and Pegasus looked offended by the noise, but Yugi felt only a flare of guilt. _Atem_.

They all stared at the lighthouse, an awkward silence between the three of them, until Joey spoke up.

“…Like I told your assistant, Yugi asked for an electrician to come look at some things.” And then his uncertainly solidified into indignance. “And, you know, an assistant keeper. He shouldn’t be out here working in these conditions alone. It’s not…” he tried to think of a word. “…Humane.”

Pegasus returned Joey’s scathing glare with just as much intensity. “What do you know about anything? Get to work loading the boat, I’m not paying you by the hour.”

The sharp tone jerked Yugi out of his thoughts and back to his present situation. But before he could say anything placating, Pegasus continued.

“Our new keeper has been managing quite well on his own, it would seem. Come, Yugi-boy. Have you looked around here yet? No, I suppose you wouldn’t have. Busy keeping the light.”

Joey hadn’t moved to unload the plane yet, shocked that Pegasus was about to whisk Yugi away. “How long will you be? I can just take him over now while I’ve got time. It’s a lot of stuff for just one person to get up the stairs over there.”

“Yugi, as we’ve both seen, is perfectly able to take care of himself. Honestly, no one else seems to think the boy is capable of anything. He’d already made it here, just load up the boat.”

It was like a game of tug-o-war, and Yugi wasn’t sure how to get out of the middle of it. “I don’t mind helping—”

“In that case, grab my things, and follow me.”

Yugi looked to Joey, but his silent question was met only with a surly shrug. So he turned to Pegasus. “…You’re staying here?” he asked uncertainly.

“Of course! I’m overdue for a visit. Now, Mr. Wheeler will make sure your supplies are loaded up and get on his way. And you help me. I’m feeling a little under the weather, you’ll have to carry everything. That’s a good lad.” He waved them away with a hand, and turned away, ending the discussion.

Yugi followed Joey over to the plane. “Does he usually stay here?” he asked under his breath.

Joey shook his head. “This place is a ghost town, aside from the Crawford house. The coast guard gave him shit though, so he’s probably just making a show of things. Wants to flaunt his fancy mansion or something. I tried to tell him it would be just as good to have gone to see you at the lighthouse. You know, actually see how things are there for you.”

“And he said no to that?” Yugi couldn’t help but think of Atem, waiting back on the island, where the foghorn was still intermittently sounding. Did Pegasus know the place was haunted? He might avoid it if that was the case. Atem was certainly a terrifying entity when unknown, stalking, quiet and invisible, around the island. But not so frightening now that Yugi knew him; that smiling face, those curious eyes, those gentle hands. His own desire to get back was surprising in its intensity. “I should have just waited over there for you I guess instead of rushing over. Would have been way simpler.”

Joey was giving Yugi a searching look as he opened up the cargo door. “You know, I met those guys. Those two sailors you saved. They said you were staying in the house now. And I know I’m not into that whole… ghost thing… but… a lot of shit has happened there over the years.” He didn’t look like he wanted to ask the question at all, but valiantly went on. “Has everything… been okay? Nothing weird? You seemed kind of spooked the last time I saw you.”

Plenty weird, and yeah, spooked was a fair observation for how he’d felt a few weeks ago. Yugi found it easy to smile though. “It’s been fine, actually. It’s not so bad, once you get used to it.” And he slipped a folded piece of note paper out of his pocket. “But there are some things I’d like for next time you come, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Joey pocketed the list without reading it, too busy trying to make sense of Yugi. “You’re probably the first person to say that _ever_. I know it’s only been a month, but you’re sure you’re not secretly going crazy on me, are you?”

“I swear, I’ve probably been doing better than I have in a long time. Just wish the food was better.”

Joey let out a huff of sympathetic laughter. “I’ll see if I can get them to order you better things next time. If you’re in the house, you’ve got a proper stove and fridge, right?”

“Let’s hurry things up now, boys!” Pegasus called.

Yugi and Joey exchanged matching looks of irritation, but then Joey rolled his eyes, and picked up a blue plastic bin, heavy with cans. “I’ve got this, if you take his things,” he said with a nod towards a suitcase and another blue box, bungeed against the wall of the plane. “I’ve got another flight booked later today, but I’ll come find you before I head out.”

With a nod, Yugi pulled the suitcase and bin towards himself. Peeking inside, he saw it was laden with fresh fruits and vegetables, meat wrapped in pink butcher paper, and… fresh cut lilies? Pegasus was clearly prepared for a very different atmosphere from what Yugi had been enduring. He heaved a sigh, and hauled everything out, and hoped this would be over and done with quickly.

*

Despite everything Yugi was carrying, Pegasus led him on a meandering path down a dirt road. It would have been faster and more thoughtful to direct Yugi where to go and let him run ahead, but instead Pegasus wound around a handful of decrepit buildings, all faded paint and dirty windows and rotted doors, and Yugi trudged behind, suitcase wheels grinding along the path, and the box of groceries perilously held under his arm against his hip.

“Sadly no one has lived here full time since the seventies,” Pegasus lamented, as he made his way, leaning on his cane with each step. “My father often talked about building up a tourist industry here. A bed and breakfast. Reincorporate the town and bring in fresh blood. Not really my area of interest though.”

“You founded Industrial Illusions, right?” Yugi asked, making an effort to be polite as he adjusted his grip on the box again. “The gaming company.”

Pegasus seemed surprised he knew of it. “Well! Yes, in fact. My pride and joy. Started the business on my own, where my forefathers were all happy to live off the family estate. I am, regrettably, burdened with this travesty all the same.” He stopped at the edge of a stone walkway, cracked with weeds, that led to the largest building in the village. It was far larger than any of the other houses, with cheery pink brick, large bay windows, and a fresh coat of paint had been applied to all the trimming in recent years. It had been maintained, if not lived in, and looked almost welcoming.

Welcoming, aside from the dead tree out front. Spindly, stark, and white, all its bark had long since flaked away.

And perched in it were a dozen black sea birds, with their bills raised and wings stretched out to dry in the sun. They were mostly unbothered by the two humans walking below them to the front door, only one on a low stub of a branch cocked its head to eye them suspiciously.

“Don’t mind the birds. I’ve had hunters come out, and yet they keep nesting around here. It’s awful, they kill all the trees. Did you know, there used to be trees on that little island of yours?”

Yugi hadn’t seen anything bigger than bushy shrubs. “What are they? I’ve mostly only seen seagulls at the lighthouse.”

“Cormorants,” Pegasus said tersely. “A real nuisance.” He gave them a final glower, and then unlocked the front door. Yugi followed him in, and was taken aback by the splendour of the place. High ceilings and crown molding, polished oak floors, and, like the trim outside, recently painted. A grand house compared to anything Yugi had known, living above the game shop, or in a tiny little apartment. Certainly far more spacious and elegant than the keeper’s quarters he lived in now. But the air was musty and all the furniture was draped with white covers.

Pegasus was through the foyer and into a sitting room in a heartbeat. He had his eyes on a couch, and with a flourish, whipped the sheet off of it. It revealed an overstuffed antique, upholstered in a subtle floral green fabric. Sinking into its soft cushions, he let out a weary sigh. “Finally.”

“Are you alright?” Yugi asked as he set the suitcase and box down just inside the entryway.

“It’s such a long way to come here. I need to rest a minute. Make yourself useful and uncover everything else. Get some fresh air into this place.” Pegasus waived Yugi away, and then draped his arm over his face. And he looked so pale and sickly and overdrawn that Yugi couldn’t bring himself to do anything except help as asked.

*

The foghorn stopped it’s wailing eventually, but the need to get back to the island persisted. Better to finish up as quickly as possible. So Yugi cooperatively went around the house, tugging sheets off of pristine antique furniture until his arms were full and he was sneezing from the unsettled dust. There was a modern washing machine in the kitchen, so he stuffed them all into it, and wiped his hands on his pants.

But then there was a subsequent list Pegasus directed him to of all the tasks required to ‘open’ the house. Turning on faucets and plugging in appliances and sweeping cobwebs out of corners. There was even a workshop out back, full of tools, but what Yugi needed to do was start up the generator. He was grateful for Herb’s thorough instructions back at the lighthouse, though this wasn’t exactly where he had expected to put the knowledge to use.

Still, Yugi went through everything on the list, grudgingly but methodically. He was only distracted when he went to the master bedroom upstairs, with an arm full of bedsheets and blankets in a sealed plastic case. On the floor by the window was a long-dead seagull. Yugi retched, dropped everything, and backed out of the room.

He retreated back downstairs and cautiously leaned into the sitting room where Pegasus still lay. “There’s a dead bird upstairs.”

That got him to raise his head. “A what?”

“A dead bird. A seagull, I think.”

Revulsion flashed across the man’s face. “Well what are you telling me for? Clean it up! Probably came down the flue by accident.” And with that he lay back down. Yugi was expected to deal with it.

It was a repulsive task. Dead bodies were so unsettling, whether a waxy-faced relative in a funeral home, or this poor bird. But he swept it into a dustpan, shuddered but didn’t drop it when the bones shifted and feathers brushed his skin. Instead of doing what Pegasus had suggested, Yugi gingerly carried it outside. There was a shovel in the workshop, and Yugi dug a shallow hole, just at the edge of the yard. Pegasus didn’t seem like a sentimental sort, but Yugi couldn’t just discard it. It had been living once, and this was such a small and easy thing to do.

It only took a minute, and he leaned on the shovel, staring at the little mound of dirt, until his gaze shifted towards the ocean. The lighthouse, standing on its rocky outcrop. It looked so far from here. And he felt sad, for a moment. Atem probably hadn’t been given even this sort of cursory dignity in his death, if his ghost was still walking the earth. Was this maybe what he was waiting for? A proper burial?

Without lingering on that idea, he let the thought of his companion spur him back into action. Yugi wanted to finish here quickly, get away from his melancholic boss. He put the shovel and dustpan away, and continued on with the list.

*

He was packing groceries into the fridge when Joey poked his head in the front door.

“Hey, Yugi! You in here?”

Pegasus levered himself into a seated position and howled indignantly from the sitting room. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock, you backwater hooligan?”

Joey backed out, but didn’t close the door, looking instead to Yugi who was coming down the hall. “Geez, I just wanted to say I was done loading the boat. Thought I’d get Yugi and make sure he got across alright before I head out.”

“That sounds good to—”

“Yugi-boy was just about to start on dinner, in fact.”

It was the first Yugi had heard of it. And Joey caught wind of his confusion like a bloodhound on a scent.

“He’s not your housekeeper! And he’s got to get back over before the tide’s out.” Joey stepped in the foyer, hands on hips, and glared into the room where Pegasus was sitting. Yugi didn’t speak up, but agreed with the sentiment. He’d already been gone longer than he’d expected.

“Fine, put an invalid to work,” Pegasus groaned as he forced himself stiffly to his feet. “I was going to invite you both to join me, of course.”

Yugi fidgeted for a moment. “Dinner sounds nice?” he hedged, trying to find the path of least resistance. “It’ll be quicker if everyone helps. I know I’m starving.”

Joey looked like he’d rather eat rocks than share a meal with Pegasus, but was apologetic when he said, “I really can’t stay, I was just going to help you, Yugi.”

“Pity,” Pegasus drawled.

“I should be going too, then,” Yugi added after exchanging a look with Joey.

“Nonsense, you just said you’re hungry, and you’ve got plenty of time. Stop holding up Mr. Wheeler from his other business, and maybe try to be more gracious about accepting some hospitality. I can’t imagine you’ve already forgotten how to be a good guest in such a short time.”

Yugi was quickly coming to detest Pegasus’ grating company, but politely agreed to stay a little longer. The lighthouse was visible through the windows and the sight of it was vaguely reassuring. He’d eat something that wasn’t re-hydrated or from a tin can and then be on his way. He’d made it across the Sound in one piece already, getting back shouldn’t be much more difficult on a calm day like this.

Joey didn’t accept the offer, however. So Yugi walked with him out to the front step, under that dead tree with the black birds. Joey had his arms crossed irritably, and was still wearing a scowl.

“You sure you’re holding up alright?”

“I am, promise.” Yugi couldn’t resist a teasing grin. “The ghost is good company.”

“Don’t joke about that shit! God, you’re a real weirdo, you know that?” But Joey was finally grinning too. “Then again, it’s not hard to find better company than this asshole,” he said, tipping his head towards the house. “Seriously, don’t let him boss you around like that. He’s taking advantage of you, and it’s not your job to be his maid. He’s already asking way too much by sticking you alone at the lighthouse. He should be grovelling at your feet for putting up with all this.”

“It’s fine, he seems like he’s really not well so I don’t mind helping a little. And don’t worry, I’ll be out of here soon. Just going to enjoy a normal meal while I have a chance.”

Joey looked like he was going to keep right on worrying, but accepted Yugi’s words without protest. “I’m back in a couple days for this jerk, but the boat’s full of everything to get you through another month. I’ll see about hooking you up with some better grub next time. And the stuff on your list…” Joey’s frown returned. He had looked at it at some point, Yugi realised with a flash of embarrassment. “His office keeps saying they’re working on a second keeper, but he wouldn’t say anything to me about it, so I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting.”

“Yeah, I figured. The games are just, uh, for me.”

Joey rolled his eyes, and scoffed a lighthearted _whatever, nerd_ , before finally clapping a hand on Yugi’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

*

And then it was just the two of them. The beating propellers had long since faded by the time Yugi found himself chopping vegetables, a recipe card propped up by a salt and pepper shaker, while Pegasus sat in a chair, drinking a merlot.

Where Atem’s company was effortless, there was no comfortable silence with Pegasus, who had no shortage of criticisms and complaints. So Yugi tolerated the conversation, trying to guide it towards benign topics, navigating a verbal minefield of thinly-veiled insults, arrogant declarations, and sprinklings of ‘Yugi-boy’.

Currently, Pegasus was lamenting that his chef hadn’t been available to come for the week.

“You’re staying a whole week?”

The man hummed noncommittally. “I find the sea air good for my health.”

Yugi hesitated before asking another question. “Can I ask what’s wrong?”

The glare he received said he definitely could not ask that. Instead Pegasus launched into a tangent. “You know, my great-great grandfather would come out here with his wife. You’ve never heard a love story like it, I’m certain. Maximillian and Cyndia. Hopeless romantics. She had poor health too, and so he built her this seaside cottage, to get her out of the London smog and here with the fresh air.”

Yugi was sliding the vegetables into a hot pan, feeling a somber nostalgia. Couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s swift decline. They’d spent all their time in a hospital, fresh air always just out of reach for her. “I’m sure she must have enjoyed it out here.”

“She certainly did. She recovered and lived to an extravagant old age. As does most of my family. Quite blessed we are.”

“Oh. That is lucky.” Yugi tried to focus on being happy for them, or at least distracted from his own train of thought. “So are you descended from the actual Earl of Crawford?”

“You’re speaking to him,” Pegasus said haughtily. “It’s a hereditary title. It’s not just some name you bandy about. It’s a legacy. I don’t expect you would understand.”

Yugi kept facing the stove to hide his exasperation. Someone in the logbooks had mentioned something about that, though. “The lighthouse is part of that legacy, too?” he asked.

Pegasus didn’t answer right away, and Yugi caught him gazing out the window at the distant tower, lips pursed and eyes pensive. “Something like that. Did you know they say it’s haunted?”

Yugi choked on a surprised cough. “I-I, well…” He wondered if he was expected to answer, or if the Earl would just continue on as he often did.

Pegasus had turned from the window to give him a strange look. Something cold and calculating. He was waiting for Yugi to reply.

“I’ve heard that. Why? Is it true?” Yugi finally said. He felt protective of his silent companion. Didn’t want to accidentally misstep and say something he shouldn’t to this person. But at the same time he was desperate for any insight into who the ghost was. And if it had been in the Crawford family for so long, then surely Pegasus himself would know something.

The Earl swirled the dregs of his wine around, considering it, then topped up his glass. “I don’t want to put you off, after you’ve been doing so well. You probably don’t want to hear ghost stories before you head back over there.”

Yugi absolutely did, if it was about Atem. “It’s fine, I haven’t seen anything there to be scared of so far. I’d love to know more about the place.” He tried to keep his interest sounding as casual as he could.

Pegasus wasn’t so quick to indulge him. “You know, back in Hawkins they’re saying you’re braver than you look, Yugi-boy. And I am, I have to say, surprised by your resilience.”

He murmured a thank you, though he wasn’t sure it was really a compliment. And he didn’t really care what others thought. He was just hoping Pegasus would tell him something. Primed for any historical gossip he could sink his teeth into.

There was a brief staring contest, and with a soft chuckle, the man finally set down his glass. “My forefathers staffed the lighthouse with keepers. Felons, usually. A very disreputable sort, but cheap labour. They rarely lasted long, either driven mad by guilt of whatever atrocities they had committed, or they would fall victim to careless accidents. All manner of things. You can imagine the rumours. By the time my father was in charge, he was made to staff the place with pairs, though that has perhaps only exasperated the issue. You should count yourself lucky to be alone there.”

Yugi simply nodded.

“However, before the lighthouse was built, the Sound was known for being quite the ship graveyard. It’s turned many schooners into splinters. But back then, many sailors would try to stop here, looking for a sheltered place to anchor along this otherwise barren shore. And when a Crawford built an estate here, well, this little dot of a village was like a siren song for other lords travelling these seas. Maximillian welcomed them all here, and despite her poor health at the time, Cyndia was an exquisite hostess by all accounts. Until one visitor came to call that was not welcome.

“A young regent, recently named next in line for some frivolous position. But all the arrogance of a king, or I suppose a sultan, if the stories are true.”

Yugi’s heart was racing. Atem, with all his gold and his fine cloak. The way he carried himself with a self-assured dignity. The way he looked at Yugi with nothing but warmth. A hand over his, another gently pulling him closer… He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “A sultan?”

“Well, no, not quite, some other Ottoman title. Nothing quite as prestigious as the Earl of Crawford name of course, so who knows the reality of it,” he said dismissively. “In any case, it’s said he was a tyrant in the making, cruel and small-minded and selfish. But he was shipwrecked here, drowned in the Sound before he could go home to take his place. And now his spirit instead has made itself a tyrant that rules over a sad little island. A vengeful ghost. People who set foot there have said a ghost would possess them, drag them through their worst memories, and it’s angry presence would sometimes blanket the island in a black fog.”

Well that didn’t sound right at all. And Yugi said as much. “I haven’t seen anything like that.”

“Lucky for me,” he said blandly, like he didn’t really care, and Yugi was put off by the strangeness of the remark. But Pegasus continued on: “Shortly after his death, there was a series of horrific shipwrecks, so Maximillian had to build the lighthouse to keep boats away from the Sound. And now they say the ghost haunts the keepers, taking revenge against those it thinks betrayed it.” He let out an irritated sigh. “I can’t help but feel personally attacked by all the tragic endings to the terrified, confused men who’ve taken their lives on the island. Such a pointless way to go. Of everything, I have to say, drowning in the Sound always sounded far more peaceful.”

Yugi had a horrified grimace on his face at the uncomfortable opinion. Shouldn’t no one be dying, drowning or otherwise? And if Atem had drowned, why was there so much blood hidden beneath his cloak? Yugi didn’t get a chance to disagree though. Pegasus shot him a cool look.

“I’m sure it’s all exaggerated, and you mark a new era. Thought I’d try a different approach. No more former convicts. And you’ve seen nothing on the island at all? How reassuring.”

The way he was looking at Yugi made his skin crawl. His cold eyes far more disconcerting than the cold presence of a ghost on the island. And he didn’t really know what to make of this story. It didn’t align at all with what he’d seen of Atem.

Instead of asking more, Yugi served two plates. But he had no appetite himself anymore, so sat across the table from the Earl, staring out the window. The sky was starting to turn gray, low clouds rolling in. “I should be heading back. I have to start the light soon.” Yugi far preferred the ghost story he’d been living the past few weeks to Pegasus’, and he wanted to return to that welcome company.

Pegasus irritably dropped his fork and pushed his plate away after only a bite. “Why are you always in such a rush? It’s still practically midday. And this is inedible. It’s like you’re trying to poison me.”

Yugi was taken aback. “I-I’m sorry.” And then, thinking of Joey’s _don’t let him boss you around_ he added, “You didn’t hire me to cook.”

He received a cutting glare for that. “Indeed. Well, I suppose none of this even matters. Come, walk with me before you hurry on your way, Yugi-boy,” he ordered as he snatched up his cane and pushed away from the table. “I have an errand and I’m loath to do it alone.”

*

Pegasus directed Yugi to carry the bouquet of white lilies that had arrived with the bin of food, and slowly led the way up an overgrown trail further inland into a sparse forest of small pines.

It wasn’t too far in that they entered a sheltered clearing. The air was calm, blocked off from the sea breeze. It was quiet, no cries of gulls, in fact no birds at all here in this copse. In two neat rows stood eight headstones, grown over with weeds and littered with pine needles. The dates spanned generations, some too old to make out, but even with the weathered lettering, the name Crawford was visible on each one.

Perhaps he was more sentimental than Yugi had taken him for. He wordlessly handed the flowers over, and stood back as Pegasus knelt to place them before the newest stone.

“My father always spoke of the enduring love of our ancestors, our duty to our descendants.”

Yugi wasn’t sure if he was speaking to the dead, or the air, or to him, so kept silent.

When Pegasus rose to his feet, he clearly addressed Yugi. “Have you ever sacrificed something for the sake of a loved one?”

He hadn’t, but he thought he might, if he had both the opportunity and the courage to act in the moment. For the sake of a parent, a grandparent. Perhaps even for a ghost, if there was a way. Not that there was. The way of life was that you simply grieved, and moved on, and tried to figure out who you were without them.

When Yugi didn’t respond, Pegasus scoffed. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand the weight of generations of expectations. You can’t even imagine the importance of the Crawfords throughout history. What would the world be without us?” He sounded bitter rather than proud. “And yet they rest here, in this wretched place.” He pushed Yugi aside with his cane as he started back towards the vacant town. “Regardless, we all have a part to play in the world, even you.”

If it was meant to be some kind of acquiescence, a bizarre apology, Yugi couldn’t tell. And Pegasus had nothing more to say about it. Seemed to have washed his hands of whatever moment this was, and continued on his way without looking back.

Yugi glanced around the little graveyard only once more, wondering what would tie a prestigious family to such a meagre plot, before catching up to Pegasus’ tired limp.

*

It was much later than Yugi was comfortable with. He would need to light the beacon as soon as he made it back to the island. It felt rude to rush past Pegasus though. He was, for all intents and purposes, the boss, so Yugi matched his slow pace, and was surprised when the other man skipped the house and continued all the way with him to the wharf.

The motorboat was sitting low in the water, laden with heavy boxes and bins. It was a little cramped, but Yugi felt relieved to be stepping into it. A fog was rolling in with the clouds. It had already nearly swallowed up the island, though the strait was still clear, and he would need to make his way quickly while there was still decent visibility.

“It was nice meeting you,” Yugi said, trying to sound sincere, but fairly certain he was failing.

He waited for Pegasus to respond, but he stood on the dock, looking critically down at Yugi.

“Well… have a good week. You could… always come by the lighthouse, if you want.” He had spotted another boat, pulled up and turned over on the shore. He didn’t know if it had a motor, or if it even floated. But he extended the invitation regardless.

All he got in response was a sneer. “Bon voyage, Yugi-boy,” and he jabbed the boat away from the dock with his cane.

The rude parting words didn’t matter to him. Yugi felt nothing but a sense of freedom to be parting from this bitter company.

*

Joey had been right to suggest leaving before low tide.

It was far more difficult navigating the Sound than it had been earlier. The setting sun was partially hidden by clouds, but it was low and cast a brilliant orange that reflected off the water and disguised the red rocks. The waves were made unpredictable by their swift and shallow flow. Yugi tried to balance going fast enough to fight the strong current with not tipping the overloaded boat, all while dodging rocks.

He had been held up too long with Pegasus, and his house, and his dinner, and his visit to his deceased parents. And all Yugi could do now was deal with it.

Maybe halfway across, he looked back at the village. Pegasus was standing on the wharf, still watching him despite having been so callous in his send-off. The sight called to mind Atem’s presence at the little boathouse earlier, who had seemed distressed to see him go. Yugi was struck by the dichotomy of it. There was something about the way Pegasus had looked at him all day. And there were Atem’s long hours spent watching and waiting, looking out over the Sound. A very different energy, between the two of them. Nothing at all alike. Perhaps opponents.

The boat rocked suddenly, and Yugi yelped as everything swayed. He clutched the sides of the boat and tried to see what he’d just narrowly missed hitting.

There was a red rock just behind him.

And then it vanished.

It sunk lower into the water, out of sight from where Yugi was certain it had just been. It wasn’t just obscured by waves. It was _gone_.

He carefully leaned over to peer at the surface of the water, but it tipped precariously, and he sat back up straight. The water was gleaming red from the sun’s reflection, and Yugi, now sweating under his raincoat, had no idea what was a camouflaged rock and what was _something else_ between him at that fog-shrouded island.

The boat again jerked suddenly to the side, like it had been bumped from underneath.

This wasn’t only treacherous rocks and current. His hands were shaking on the tiller, and he felt dizzy with what he was seeing.

Something massive, red and scaled, moved just under the surface of the water, smooth and steady. It created a wake that sent Yugi off-course before disappearing back into the depths.

 _Watch out,_ Herb had said. _Old Slipher likes to rear up when the water’s low._

The words were sounding off like bombs in Yugi’s head. And when the boat bumped again, he spurred the motor a little faster. He just had to make it to the lighthouse. Dodge the rocks, dodge the sea serpent, and he’d be safe.

The island was obscured by fog, impossible to tell how much further he had to go. And when Yugi fearfully looked back over his shoulder, Pegasus was still there on the shore, silhouetted black, watching Yugi’s feckless path. He wouldn’t help, if something happened. The certainty of it hollowed him out and fear filled him up.

The boat swayed again, and an opposing wave splashed in over the side, soaking Yugi’s legs. There was another glimpse of that wide, red body.

He kept hold on the tiller, and his eyes trained forward, fixed on the way forward as the boat entered the cloud.

The fog was so thick it blocked out the sun, and the world turned to nothing but black water and gray mist, and whatever rocks lay immediately before him.

And the sound of the ocean spray became something else. A deep, hissing breath, rising out of the water behind him. He could hear it, towering above him, and the wind turned from chilly to warm and wet against his back.

That chill ran up his spine. The eyes of something predatory upon him.

Yugi didn’t turn around, couldn’t, delirious in his single-minded fear. He would either plough ahead into the shore, or die in the Sound. And no matter what Pegasus might think, Yugi would take the rocks over the water. At least he knew what dwelled on the island.

The island emerged from the fog. Not the boat house, but a solid wall of rock, and there was no time to slow his course. But before he hit it the boat rocked sideways and capsized.


	7. Chapter 7

_“Hawkins Harbour’s mayoral candidates agree major changes needed at lighthouse. While they may not agree on much, all three candidates are all in favour of changes being made at the Crawford Sound lighthouse. The privately owned landmark has been subject to countless fatalities and community leaders are calling for new standards and additional resources to address safety concerns. This follows the October fire that destroyed the residence and claimed the life of the lighthouse keeper.”_ ~ The Harbour Times, December 4th, 1971

_*_

The Atlantic was a frigid slap to Yugi’s senses. It left him breathless as he was knocked around by the bins and the boat and the rocks and the waves that crowded him. Salt water stung his eyes and filled his nose and mouth. Turned his boots to lead weights.

The current tumbled him through the water, raking him along the sharp wall of rock. For a crushing moment he found himself pinned under the water, between stone and metal. The wave ebbed and gave him space, but what rushed into its place was _panic._

He flailed for _anything_ and his outstretched hand smacked against the overturned boat. Yugi grabbed hold for dear life and managed to get his head above the surface and let out a watery cough.

All he could think was _how close was it?_ That red-scaled thing. With its hissing breath. Snaking through the Sound.

Was it below him now, even in these rough shallows? Maybe not shallow enough. He was half-in the water, boots sucking him down. He kicked them off, and clambered all the way up onto the curved hull. His fingers were turning numb from the cold but he held on, while every swell of the sea threatened to toss him back into the water.

He risked letting go with one hand to swipe his hair out of his eyes, trying to see where the boathouse was. It couldn’t be far. He just needed to reach it. Get out of the Sound and onto solid earth.

But the boat was on its own swirling trajectory. One moment ready to crash against the bluff, and the next sweeping back towards the strait. He craned his head over his shoulder to see where it was taking him now.

Not anywhere he wanted to be.

Through the mist he could just make it out. Red scales against rust-coloured stone. A gigantic, serpentine body that dwarfed the rocks it coiled around. A long, curved neck that towered above the water. A dragon’s face, sharp and spiked, with too many rows of pointed teeth.

And two yellow eyes, staring at him.

When he met its gaze, a shudder ran through him. He was nothing but it’s prey. The helpless, stranded keeper.

Yugi stared up at the creature. Those waiting jaws.

_…What was it waiting for?_

The boat bumped against a rock, and Yugi slid off the hull, nothing on the smooth metal hull to grasp and hands too numb even if there had been. The serpent watched him slip into the water. This was what it wanted, and it began to unwind its scaly body from the rocks. It sank soundlessly into the water, leaving just the top of its head above the surface. Eyes fixed on Yugi.

He abandoned the boat to swim for shore. He’d rather be crushed against the rocks than crushed by _fangs_. His arms rebelled against him, but his legs still mostly worked, and he kicked with everything he had towards where he hoped the boathouse was.

It was hard to keep his head up. Hard to breathe. A wave pushed him tauntingly forward, then dragged him back.

There was a horrifying awareness of _this was how it would end_. Here, helpless and alone in this dark water. And as he thought it, confusion laced through his fear and dread. The water he was splashing towards wasn’t just dark.

There was a patch, _black_ like an oil slick, stretching out along the surface towards him.

Instead of sick fear, his frantic thoughts ran to that memory of Atem’s shadow. Thick and viscous and heavy, moving along the walls of the lighthouse. A hand that had caught him, stopped his fall.

He needed that hand again.

“ _Atem—_ ” Yugi tried to call out, but salt water rushed in. He was sinking, body too cold to cooperate, to float, to fight, to flee.

But the darkness was swift, and it reached him before Slipher’s waiting jaws could. A long, black shadow wound tightly around his arm. And at its touch, a rushing noise of howling wind and water invaded his head. Something static burned along his senses, jarring and painful enough to make him gasp in another mouthful of salt water. But then darkness was filling him up, and he was drowning in something else.

*

Yugi’s head was splitting. A maddening, buzzing drone drove out any sense of self, or any sense of time, or place. Pushed him out of _here_ and _now_ where his body was fighting the water into some other place.

A place where he was himself, but he had no control. He wasn’t moving, but his body was striding forward.

He was a passenger on whatever journey his legs were taking him on.

The noise in his head faded just enough to let him see, and his heart seized with the realization of where he was. Where he was going.

He wasn’t _here_ and _now_ anymore. This was _then_ and _there_. Baffling in the sudden arrival in this time and place, but absolutely no doubt about where this was.

A hospital corridor. Bright fluorescent lights. Nurses chatting at their station, but their voices sounded like they were submerged under water. A sign listed a slew of departments, and ahead of him, _oncology_ in plain black letters.

He wanted to stop walking, turn around, leave this place. But this was _then_ , so his hand grasped a handle, pushed open a door, and he entered the room where his mother lay prone in a bed.

His mother. A wraith of what she had once been, skin thin and dry over her bones. Sunken eyes that took too long to recognize him. Too weak to do anything as he sat down and took her hand. Nothing but a wheeze where her gentle voice had once soothed him. He wished he’d never seen her like this. That he could cling to a more vibrant version of her. There was a heavy hand on his shoulder. His grandpa was behind him, speaking with that strange watery voice Yugi couldn’t decipher.

The words didn’t matter. Yugi didn’t need to hear them. He knew this moment intimately. Already knew the long hours of waiting ahead. The helplessness of watching something that could not be changed. The ache that would sit with him for days and weeks and months until it eventually dulled into some gray feeling. But right now he was suffocated by the emotions. They stung like this was happening for the first time. Deep and sharp and raw.

Why was he here? This had already happened. He did not need to relive this. He struggled against the memory, but his heart was so heavy, a weight that dragged him down, pinned him in this moment.

He fought anyway. Wanted to _leave._ To escape. To breathe.

His body in this moment didn’t move, but he felt like he was swimming. Somewhere else. Trying to swim away from the weight inside that was drowning him, up and out of this awful memory. Fighting his way through a river or a waterfall or a riptide to get back to where he was supposed to be. In the present.

Maybe he was actually swimming, because the hospital room fell away, and he was soaking wet, somehow back in the _now._

 _Now_ didn’t bring relief though. His heart wasn’t eased. It had dragged that new-old grief from the past back into the present. Choking and painful.

And the _here_ and _now_ was wrong. Was just as disorienting as unexpectedly being plunged into that memory. His head was clambering with a noisy, rushing darkness, and he didn’t know who he was.

He was Yugi, but at the same time filled with something distinctly _not himself_. Pulsing alongside his turbulent fear, like a second heartbeat, was an anger that did not belong to him. The sensation was so deeply _wrong_ he tried to thrash against it. Tried to scream. Wanted to rip this second, sickening heart out of his own chest.

Except he wasn’t breathing, and he wasn’t moving, and there wasn’t anything to touch.

Someone else was breathing and moving and climbing out of the ocean onto the dock.

The ghost had taken over him. Taken over his head, and the thick black weight of its shadow inside of him was pushing the real Yugi down, squeezing his heart to make room for its own. Suffocating him.

“It will be over soon,” his own lips spoke, with his own voice, but with an intonation and a depth that he didn’t recognize, and Yugi hoped it was true because this was too painful. Too much.

The ghost was immune to whatever Yugi was suffering through. Where Yugi had struggled against his own numbing limbs, the spirit possessing him was unbothered by the cold. Had escaped the sea serpent and made it to the dock. Even managed, at some point, to use Yugi’s frozen hands to grip the rope attached to the bow of the half-sunken motor boat to expertly tie it to its post.

And Yugi’s body, with a confidence he’d never experienced in his life, stood tall to cast a defiant glare across the Sound. “He won’t come for you here,” his voice said with words that weren’t his, though he could hardly even hear through all the other noise in his head. Could only make out that this was Atem’s unyielding stance, his stern conviction. And perhaps it was meant as an assurance, but Yugi felt so wildly out of control he almost wished he’d been taken by Slipher instead.

Except there was no sea monster to be seen. Nothing in the fog, or between the rocks. The tide was rolling back in and the sun had set, immersing the island into a dim, gray twilight. The serpent had vanished.

Yugi didn’t know where it had gone. Couldn’t think beyond the darkness that was strangling him, but the ghost was satisfied that there was nothing coming and turned away. He experimentally opened and closed Yugi’s hands. Curiously examined the scrapes on his knuckles and palms. Wiggled his blue fingers.

And Yugi felt like his heart was being consumed. Didn’t know how much longer he could suffer through this agony.

“Please bear it, just a little longer,” Atem asked with Yugi’s borrowed voice. He brought a hand to rest against Yugi’s chest. To feel the fluttering pulse within. He sighed with Yugi’s lungs. “Your heart is very light, there is room for me.”

There wasn’t room for anything. Atem was a black hole inside of him, simultaneously crushing in its enormity, with its own weight and gravity, yet empty like the void of space. And Yugi was going to be lost to it, as it pulled in his heart, heavy with memories and sorrow and fear. He needed it _out,_ he wanted his body back, and the other heart to _leave_ , and the shrieking darkness _out of his head_ —

Atem paused in his ascent up the stairs, cocked his head as though listening to Yugi’s internal panic, and Yugi’s face soured with Atem’s remorseful expression. “It is very unpleasant, but I…” He didn’t continue the thought. Shook his head at himself. “Forgive me, Yugi.”

And with no warning, he was released. The darkness that had filled him up drained out of him, pooling into his shadow beneath his feet.

Yugi gasped at the onslaught of suddenly feeling _everything_. A blinding white emptiness in his head, a deafening silence, made room for everything else to rush back in. His heart rebounded from where it had been so constricted, exploding with fear and grief and confusion. And the agonizing awareness of his body. The piercing cold of his arms and legs, with his fingers and toes beyond painfully frozen. Every throbbing bruise on his ribs where he’d been briefly crushed between the boat and the rocks. The weight of his soaking clothes clinging to his skin. The dirt and pebbles grinding through his socks into his otherwise bare feet. The salt that burned his throat and nose and lungs and stomach.

Yugi collapsed to his knees and retched on the steps. Coughed, and sobbed, and trembled as his head caught up to everything. The terror of Slipher. Nearly drowning. That memory of his mother. _Being possessed._ God, he’d almost died. Had definitely felt like he was dying. Had been so certain everything was going to end. And been so afraid and helpless and out of control.

But he hadn’t drowned. Hadn’t been torn to pieces by fangs or rocks. He was alive. Still alive and here to feel it all.

Still alive because he hadn’t been _alone_. No. Help had come, in an unexpected way. Awful, and frightening, and painful… but help nonetheless. He was here on the shore because of Atem. And even now his shadow was beside him. 

Yugi was sobbing with relief now, instead of everything else.

It was tempting to stay here. Hunched over the stairs. But night was falling. Atem had gotten him out of the water, and now Yugi had to go the rest of the way. So he gave himself another few seconds to pull himself together. To catch his breath and to find himself in that quiet spaciousness inside of his head.

And when he was ready, positive that he was back in the _here_ and _now_ , and sure that he was _alive_ and _himself_ , he panted out a hoarse ‘ _thank you’_ that made his shadow flicker with surprise.

Without waiting for the ghost to do anything else, Yugi forced himself to his feet, frozen joints and muscles stiffly fighting the movement. Started climbing the steps himself. One foot after the other. Up and up and up. Towards the lighthouse and the waiting beacon.

*

Yugi wasn’t thinking straight. Or he was thinking too much.

His limbs were so deadened he’d resorted to crawling up the stairs of the lighthouse. Cold beyond shivering. If he stopped, he thought he might never be able to move again. So he clung to a single purpose. The beacon at the top.

But he _should_ stop. Let the light go dark. Let the black of night send out an alarm to the coast guard, and summon help. He needed it. The heavy bins of food from Joey were all lost. And hypothermia was setting in.

He kept climbing, up the spiral steps, and through his spiralling thoughts.

Because the light couldn’t go dark. Couldn’t risk a distress signal. Didn’t _want_ to inadvertently summon the coast guard here. Didn’t want someone like Honda to rush across the strait in that inflatable orange dingy, across the water where Yugi now knew some massive dragon swam.

The image of it was burned in his mind. And of Pegasus standing on the shore, sending him off towards it. He couldn’t make sense of _why_ or _what for_ but he was frightened. Something wild in the Sound would have been one thing, but the serpent seemed purposeful and that made it all the more terrifying.

And there was also Atem. Where Yugi crawled up the stairs now, the ghost walked beside him. Not in his human form, but a thick and dense shadow along the wall of the tower. It was hard to believe it was the same ghost he’d been spending his days playing cards and doing puzzles with. He still had the same weighty presence, the same prickle at his senses. But Yugi knew now that it wasn’t just a strange gravity that surrounded Atem. There was a desolate black hole inside. And beyond that calm face was a heart that burned with a resentful fury.

That made him pause. Made his stomach twist into knots. Was it Yugi’s fault? He hadn’t intended to leave without saying anything. Hadn’t planned to be gone for hours. Certainly hadn’t meant for his return to be so disastrous.

“…Are you angry at me?” he asked, forcing the words out around a tongue that felt like rubber.

In a rush, Atem emerged from his shadow on the wall. He wore an expression of pure dismay, head shaking as he crouched on the stairs beside him. No, not angry at Yugi.

Seeing his familiar ghost, face full of remorse, was reassuring enough but it didn’t quell any of Yugi’s other questions.

A cloak concealed his bloody wounds. A vengeance fuelled his heart. A darkness dwelled within him.

The sum of those parts was frightening. It made sense, in a sad way, that men would run from him, throw themselves into the ocean, into the serpent’s waiting jaws, rather than go willingly towards this cursed being. Yugi had run from him at first, too. Would have kept running now, after being twisted around in that terrifying, otherworldly void, if that was all he’d known of him. But there was so much more to his phantom companion. Someone dependable and clever and kind unlike anyone Yugi had ever known.

And it seemed to be mutual. Atem often seemed surprised by Yugi. Even now he could still hear the quiet awe reverberating in his mind.

_…Your heart is very light…_

It hadn’t felt that way. He had never known a heart could be such a burden, but the pain had mostly passed. Atem had even asked his forgiveness for the unintentional suffering. With words. With Yugi’s voice but his _own words._

He had no voice now though. And Yugi was embarrassed to realise the ghost was watching him with a growing concern. He had been kneeling here on the steps, unmoving for too long.

“Sorry, I—” Yugi closed his eyes, took a second to rally himself, and pulled himself up the next step. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. When I left this morning. Or now. I’m okay.” The watch room was so close. Just a little further to go.

He was going to start the light. Warn ships away from these waters.

And let the flashing beacon be a message to Pegasus on the other side of the Sound as well. Tell him that whatever was going on here, whatever sick game he was playing, Yugi was _still alive._

He was alive, and he wasn’t alone.

*

It was decidedly night when he reached the control panel. Yugi’s arms were burning from the cold, hands and fingers unable to move, and worsening each minute. But he palmed on the switch, and the light cut through the sky outside. The radio was silent. The delay hadn’t yet been noticed. No one within miles watching for the light.

Except perhaps one person. If he’d had more energy, if there’d been less fog, he might have poked his head out the window to look across the Sound. To where he knew there was a brick house with its temporary resident.

But instead he folded his arms across him and took a seat on the stool to stare blankly at the floor. He had made it up here and completed his task, but this was as far as he could go.

A second passed, or perhaps a hundred, before Atem stepped close. He was pulling a blanket around Yugi’s shoulders, one forgotten up here from the nights when he’d slept on this metal floor. He could hardly feel it over his wet clothes, but the weight of it grounded him. And then Atem was kneeling before him, a hand gripping Yugi’s arm through the blanket, trying to get Yugi to meet his eyes.

Normally there would be a chill in the air with this proximity, but Yugi was too cold to feel it. Lips blue. Nose dripping. Mind slowed down. But there was that distant noise at the back of his mind, that static up his spine that came with _contact_.

He blinked heavily and pulled his gaze to Atem’s worried face.

Atem wanted him to move. Yugi couldn’t. The house was so far away. He’d fall down the stairs before he made it past the first step. But maybe Atem could support him, carry him down. Yugi wasn’t too proud to ask for help.

So he tried to speak. Syllables came out in a slow, jumbled mess, and Atem’s horrified face told Yugi that _oh, this was bad_. He wasn’t speaking sense. His tongue wasn’t cooperating.

And even that realization felt far away. He was so cold, so tired. Atem’s hand was the only thing holding him up. Yugi let his head fall forward. Atem would catch him.

Except he didn’t. Atem dissipated into something dark and smoky and pressed in. And everything started to hurt all over again.

*

He was pushed once again out of the _here_ and _now_ into the _then_ and _there._ Into an unwelcome memory, but a different one.

A headstone. A fresh mound of dirt. And Yugi was wearing not his usual black clothes, but a black suit. A crumpled paper was in his clammy hands. The eulogy he’d written, but found himself unable to recite before the sombre gathering of Sugoroku Mutou’s friends and colleagues.

He hadn’t been able to find his voice, and he’d missed a last opportunity to tell the world how much he loved his grandfather. Remind them of how much joy he’d brought to people.

Yugi had stood silently while everyone else said their goodbyes, and left.

The regret was crippling.

Like the last memory, he could feel these emotions cutting fresh and deep too. All the shame of how he’d been too shy growing up. How badly he’d wanted to make his grandfather proud, but time and time again he hadn’t. Yugi felt like nothing more than wasted potential. A disappointment. And now he was left with the daunting reality of facing his future alone. Not sure how to be the brave and clever and generous person his grandfather had always told him he was.

He wanted to be that person, but he didn’t know how. And he didn’t know how to figure it out on his own.

Time passed here, too. A different pace than waiting for his mother to take her last breath, and different feelings. But this dragged on all the same.

He had to go home to the Game Shop. He didn’t think it would ever feel like home again without his grandpa. But he had nowhere else to go, so he started walking.

One foot in front of the other.

One step after another, over and over, until he got to where he was going.

He wasn’t sure where that was anymore.

Had he walked blindly through entire months and years, to find himself back in the present?

Maybe. Because Atem was in control again, and Yugi was being crushed under that dark shadow, suffocating in the _now_ , with his aching heart and that rush of noise cutting through his mind, like he was still being thrown around in the ocean.

“Welcome back, Yugi,” the ghost said with Yugi’s mouth, sounding apologetic. The soft greeting was a balm against everything that hurt. And how it _hurt_. This shared consciousness was painful. But Yugi desperately wanted to hold on to the _here_ and _now_. Didn’t think he could live through another deep dive into yet another upsetting memory.

He’d been lost in it for a while. Atem had already walked him down to the keeper’s quarters, and the furnace was lit, though not yet radiating heat. And while Yugi continued to flounder within, Atem methodically peeled off Yugi’s wet clothes, much the same as Ryou and Malik had when they’d been rescued from the Sound.

Gone was his yellow raincoat. Sweater, and undershirt. The muddy socks and pants. Everything down to bare skin, tinged blue from the cold. Atem didn’t seem affected by it. But he leaned forward to squeeze the water out of Yugi’s wet hair, and then, just as carefully, pat him dry with a towel. All the way from behind his ears to the spaces between his toes.

And only once he was dry did he reach for those heavy, scratchy blankets. Swaddled three snuggly around Yugi before taking a seat in the chair he’d pulled up to the furnace. Was intent on making sure Yugi’s body was arranged _just so_ , with his bundled feet propped up on the hearth, nothing exposed to the air except his face. And then he sat back comfortably, taking a moment to close Yugi’s eyes, relax into the deceptively calm pulse of Yugi’s heart, and let out a long, soft exhale.

And with that breath of air, the shadow was exhaled too, a black smoke that billowed out of Yugi.

At the end of it, Yugi’s eyes snapped open, a desperate gasp on his lips, trying to refill his empty lungs, and then he doubled forward to throw up on the floor.

He’d been numb and exhausted at the top of the lighthouse, and now he felt like he was on fire. Pulse racing, stomach churning, head spinning, and tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to recover from the memory and the weight of darkness. His thoughts seemed to rattle around the space in his mind, his rightful place in his own body.

He kept his head down as he waited for all the sensations to pass.

Atem was there, his visible, human self. Had stepped away and returned with a damp cloth. Yugi didn’t raise his head, but managed to get an arm out from all the tightly wrapped blankets to accept it. Wiped his face, and then mumbled a self-conscious apology as he swiped it over the mess on the floor.

There was a timid hand against his shoulder. Too many blankets between them to set off that sound in his head, but the weight of it was comforting after the frenzy and upheaval of… literally the entire day.

He had felt off-centre since the start of his misguided venture across the Sound. But here, with Atem’s presence, it all seemed far away. He was safe. Atem was here.

So Yugi stayed as he was, curled over, and sighed when that hand smoothed across his back. Rested like that until Atem was crouching beside him, that gentle hand sliding to his arm, encouraging Yugi to sit back up. Once again trying to get Yugi to meet his eyes.

When Yugi raised his head, Atem looked like he had a thousand things he wanted to say. Apologies or explanations or questions of his own. It was impossible to know. Even if he’d tried to speak to Yugi when he had the chance, being possessed was such a distressing, frenetic ordeal that Yugi doubted he’d even be able catch most of it.

And yet…as excruciating an experience as it was, Yugi wondered all the same. Wanted to hear that soft, deep voice. Yugi’s voice, but used differently. For Atem to tell him who he was and where he was from and why he was here and what exactly were the rules to that ridiculous card game he’d tried to teach Yugi. He had _so many questions_ and he wanted to shout them all into that void and hear Atem’s answers echo back.

Right now, though, his voice belonged only to himself. He’d thawed enough that his mouth might actually work again. And he had plenty of things he wanted to say too.

He extended his open palm to the ghost, skin still white and fingers tinged blue.

“Thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

Atem seemed stunned by the words. But he edged closer, slid his left hand into Yugi’s right. Yugi closed his eyes against the buzz in his mind that came with the contact, but held on. Atem’s hand was no colder than Yugi’s right now. As uncomfortable as everything felt, this was okay.

“I didn’t mean to leave without telling you this morning. Where did you go? I thought I looked everywhere,” he asked. There was no answer. Of course there wasn’t. How could he answer something like that without words? And did it even matter now?

But there was the soft touch of Atem’s thumb tracing over the back of Yugi’s hand. He tried to focus on it, instead of the threatening headache or goosebumps that were running across his shivering body.

“Atem,” he said after a moment, deciding to try another question. Yugi opened his eyes to watch him carefully. “I met Pegasus Crawford today. Did you know his family?”

The reaction was immediate. A rage contorted the ghost’s face, the air turning heavy with his anger, and the gentle grip on Yugi’s hand became painfully tight. And Yugi was horrified to be watching his ghost shift away from his human self into something darker than even the shadows. Something wrathful. Something fed by the angry heart concealed within him.

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Yugi tried not to panic as he found himself trapped by Atem’s hold, darkness crawling up his arm. And the noise in his head became louder. A threatening roar of wind and sea. Something more terrifying than drowning in the ocean, more dangerous than the toothy maw of a red sea monster. He was going to seep into Yugi. Take over once again. But Yugi didn’t think there’d be room inside for _this much_ anger. “Please, stop,” he begged.

Was it too late? The screaming in his head was going to split him in two.

And then it eased off.

Atem relaxed his vice-like hold, but didn’t let go of his hand completely. Continued to hold on like a lifeline. Was slowly coming back to himself, resuming his usual shape, kneeling beside Yugi.

It wasn’t entirely quiet in Yugi’s head, but the touch was bearable. He let out a breath of nervous relief and let Atem hold on.

Atem still seemed far away though, staring at something beyond the walls of the house. His expression wild and lost. Yugi wondered if it was somehow the same. If he’d been suddenly thrown from _here_ and _now_ to something _then_ and _there_. Was trying to find his way back to the present.

So Yugi returned the soft gesture Atem had offered before. Ran his thumb along those tan knuckles, brushed over those long fingers and the gold rings that adorned them.

It took a while, but eventually Atem met his eyes, back from whatever place or time he’d been cast into. He still looked disoriented, so Yugi smiled reassuringly. Held his hand a little tighter, as though he could stop him from drifting away again.

“I take it being a total asshole runs in his family.”

Atem’s confusion gave way to a disbelieving laugh. Soundless but obviously relieved, and Yugi wished he could hear it.

*

All the lights were out, except for the beacon sweeping through the night outside. The room was lit only by the glow of the furnace. Hot air was piping through the entire house, and Yugi was thawing out, heating up everywhere except for his cold hand that held Atem’s. There was still that din in his head, louder than the ocean or the wind outside, and it was uncomfortable, but not so bad that he wanted to give up this reassuring contact.

He wanted to hold on to this moment. _Here_ , in this cozy, dark room, where Atem had a second chair pulled close, and both of them were bundled up, Yugi in blankets and Atem in his cloak, hands clasped, grounded in the _now_.

It was a struggle though. His thoughts were still buzzing in his crowded head. So many worries and fears and questions rattling around.

The reality was he would have to call for help. There was only enough food to eke through a few more days, everything else lost when the boat had overturned. Even if he might find some things along the shore, he wanted to avoid going down there. It would be a miserable few days, and a hassle for Joey, but he would be flying back here to pick up Pegasus anyway. So Yugi would ask him to come with fresh cargo. Directly to the island. He wouldn’t tempt fate by crossing the strait again. Would keep as far away from Pegasus and the water as possible.

Yugi shivered at the thought of that man. His hard eyes and words, and how he had sent him off into the Sound.

For all the casual arrogance in which Pegasus had drawn out the day, Yugi felt with a chilling certainty every part had been intentional. Carefully constructed to be dangerous.

He’d picked Yugi out of a pile of resumes. Selected someone oblivious and helpless and that no one would miss. Sent him off to live on this island with no help. And today had stalled until low tide before pushing him off into Slipher’s waters.

_…We all have a part to play in the world, even you._

Would anyone believe him if he pointed his finger, said the Earl of Crawford had tried to feed him to a giant red sea monster?

It made Yugi break out in a fearful sweat. And then Atem was peering at him, frowning as Yugi tensed. Squeezed his hand to get his attention, wanted to know _what’s wrong_.

Everything was wrong. This lighthouse in the middle of nowhere. The monster in the Sound.

The _Earl of Crawford_ standing on the shore, the ghost opposite him on this tiny island, and all of the keepers caught between them. Yugi could see it clearly in his mind, but he didn’t know _why_.

He met Atem’s eyes, a question on the tip of his tongue, and hesitated. It wasn’t fair to ask. He’d already felt that furious heart, seen his face twist into a stormy rage at the mere mention of _Crawford_. Had nearly drowned in the darkness concealed within the spirit twice already.

The ghost was in some kind of pain. And Yugi was a pawn.

But it didn’t have to stay this way. They could help each other. Maybe. If Yugi knew how.

“Atem,” he said cautiously. “Can you tell me why you’re here?” 

Yugi didn’t mean the literal sense of _here in this room_ , but rather _here out of time_. Here as a ghost. And Atem understood. His frown deepened, pensive, but he didn’t drift away as Yugi had feared he might. He stayed where he was, seemed to be carefully considering how to answer the question.

Yugi wondered if he’d finally take up a pen, fill the pages of the logbooks with his own version of his story. Or if he would select a few meaningful words to trace into a fogged mirror.

He could write it on the walls in blood, and Yugi wouldn’t care at this point. He just wanted to _know_.

But Atem had decided on the _other_ option. Moved in close with the intention of using Yugi’s voice himself. Started to turn into that formless black shape.

And Yugi scooted back so fast he fell off the chair. Landed flat on his back in a tangle of blankets, gasped at the impact.

When he looked up, Atem was leaning over him. A question in his eyes.

“I don’t think I can handle that right now,” Yugi explained through shallow breaths.

Atem nodded, as though this was all perfectly reasonable and understandable. He moved away to give Yugi space to sit up.

But Yugi stayed prone on the floor, still breathing shallowly.

Without Atem’s hand in his, the noise in his head was gone. His mind was silent and empty, and suddenly Yugi was fully aware of _all_ of himself again. Hadn’t realised just how much that small contact smothered everything else he was feeling. He was dry and warm, but there was hunger gnawing at his stomach. The deep ache of every muscle and bone. The weary exhaustion of his heart and head. Everything catching up to him all at once.

Atem scowled when he still didn’t move after a minute. Reached out to shake Yugi by the shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Yugi protested. He didn’t want to move, but he forced himself up. Atem was right. He couldn’t just lie on the floor. He ought to sleep in the actual bed upstairs.

So he staggered to his feet, blankets clutched around his shoulders, and nearly toppled over again from the head rush. But Atem was there, caught him and started to guide him towards the stairs.

Yugi had one foot on the stairs before he changed his mind, pulling away to detour to the kitchen. The cupboards were nearly bare, but he needed _something_. He settled for a plain can of tuna and ate it with a fork straight out of the tin, too tired to be bothered by its bland, watery taste. Too hungry to care that he didn’t really like tuna in the first place.

While Yugi scarfed it down, Atem was pacing the floor, waiting for Yugi to hurry up.

Yugi took his time to scrape out the last flake from the bottom of the tin. It was better than nothing. Would at least take the edge off his hunger, let him sleep better. Which is what Atem clearly thought he ought to be doing right now.

And Yugi wasn’t going to disagree. He was bone-weary like he’d never felt in his life. Emotionally raw and physically beaten and spiritually wrung out. So he let the ghost usher him up the stairs. Clung to the banister as he stumbled up the steps. They were so steep. How many steps _were_ there? It felt like he was climbing the tower all over again.

But he made it. Into that small, simple bedroom. That glorious little bed. And, totally exhausted, Yugi collapsed into it.

He was asleep instantly.

Instead of leaving him and going to the window, Atem stayed. He sat on the foot of the bed through the whole night.

Watching the rise and fall of Yugi's chest.

Listening to Yugi's slow, deep breaths.


	8. Chapter 8

_“Nearly four years after the apparent suicide of lighthouse keeper Amos Allen, his family has reached a settlement in the long running lawsuit. In his ruling to dismiss punitive damages against the Crawford Estate, Judge Davis noted that "There exists a significant factual conflict in this complex matter." No details of these “factual conflicts”, nor the settlement agreement were revealed in the court document.” ~_ The Harbour Times, January 10th, 1985

*

Pegasus pursued him through his dreams. The threat of him filled the night with terror.

But whenever Yugi jerked awake, Atem was there instead. He was invisible in the night, but a palm of air smoothed down his arm to his hand, and Yugi could hear the sound of the ocean close in his mind.

And when Yugi whispered _Atem?_ into the empty room, the ghost held on a little tighter. No words, but the gesture unmistakable: _I’m here. You’re safe._

Yugi held on too, until sleep returned.

*

A heavy fog lay outside, damp and cold in the gray of pre-dawn when Yugi woke again. Atem was still sitting on the edge of the bed. Transparent but unmistakably there. An indent on the blankets.

He was grateful, but didn’t feel rested. There was an ache in his chest. A residual icicle deep in his core. A headache right behind his eyes. And when he said good morning the words came out raspy and hoarse.

Yugi tried to ignore it all as he stiffly rolled out of bed. And then he noticed something a little harder to ignore. A swath of black bruises had bloomed overnight, from collar to navel. He prodded them and they smarted, but his ribs seemed fine. It would have been painfully obvious if anything had been broken from his dunk in the rocky water, but the bruises must have been just as bad on his back, because Atem was _right there_ , an icy touch on his shoulder blade. Goosebumps prickled down his arms.

Yugi hurried to pull on some layers. “I’m fine, it looks worse than it feels,” he deflected, and once he was dressed in sweatpants and wool socks and two sweaters, he made his way down stairs.

The house was dark, but he wasn’t quite ready to be blinded by incandescent bulbs so he left the lights off. Instead he fed the flame in the furnace. It filled the room with a soft orange glow, driving away the unwelcome chill in the air.

The _welcome_ sort of chill followed him into the kitchen. Yugi yawned as he started the kettle, wincing a little as his bruised ribs expanded. He didn’t have much of an appetite, and a glance into the pantry offered no encouragement. He had left all of the things he didn’t like until the very end. He had been looking so forward to Joey’s delivery and a replenished variety of tasteless things.

An unopened box of instant cream of wheat was staring back, mocking.

And Yugi couldn’t help the annoyance that rose in him at the thought of _someone’s_ well-stocked fridge on the other side of the Sound. He also couldn’t help the ripple of fear that immediately followed the thought of _Pegasus_.

Atem had solidified, was looking over his shoulder at the nearly-bare cupboards too. When Yugi flipped the cabinet shut and turned around, the ghost’s frown settled on him.

“At least only one of us has to eat this stuff,” Yugi said lightly and ducked around him. “It’s just a few days, don’t worry.”

Atem kept right on frowning, following Yugi as he moved through the house. The kettle would boil while he turned off the beacon, so Yugi collected his raincoat from where Atem had draped it over a chair, adjusted the other damp clothes so they could dry a little better, and then turned around, looking for his boots.

The boots he’d been stomping around the island in for the past few weeks. The boots from Joey.

The boots that were somewhere in the bottom of the Sound. With Slipher.

His knees went weak as the memory washed over him, a shiver running deeply through him. He froze, jacket half-on, suddenly terrified of leaving the safety of these four walls. Atem had said it wouldn’t come for him on the shore, but _what exactly was out there_? Why was it waiting in the water? And why did Pegasus send him to it?

Atem’s uncertain touch at his shoulder made him jump.

“Atem,” Yugi breathed. A ghost maybe wasn’t _supposed_ to be a reassuring presence but Yugi relaxed. There was at least _someone_ here to watch out for him. Someone who knew what was going on.

At the sound of his name the ghost moved close, eyes intent. Like he could see all the questions and worries plain on Yugi’s face. He wrapped his hand fully around the bare skin of Yugi’s wrist, and waited.

Yugi could hear the ocean through that contact, like a conch shell pressed to his ear, ready to whisper it’s secrets.

“Let me get the light first. And breakfast. Then you can tell me what’s going on here.” His throat was dry but the steadiness of his own voice surprised even himself. He was afraid of all the things he didn’t know. The thought of the old knots in his heart he would have to tease through when Atem took over. The pain of sharing the cramped space around his soul. But he wasn’t scared of Atem. Not _him_. Whatever happened, he wasn’t alone here, and that was enough to give him courage.

And the ghost must have seen something of it in his eyes, because he nodded and released him.

He ended up having to rummage upstairs for the black shoes he’d brought from the city. The wool socks made them feel too tight on his feet, but he picked up the lantern and stepped out of the house into a wall of fog.

The Sound was hidden from view, but the wind was low and he could hear the waves and the gulls. The same as many other mornings. But he found himself peering into the cloud, heart skipping a beat at the thought of the huge creature hidden in the water.

Then he turned his nervous gaze to light in the tower. The beacon was shouting a message loud and clear to Pegasus: _I’m still here_. Yugi felt sick, like it painted a target on his back. But also a little resolute. Maybe Pegasus slept as badly as Yugi did.

He walked carefully through the haze to the lighthouse, Atem following in his wake. The ghost was shifting effortlessly through the air; sometimes formless in the fog, then a shadow on the wall as Yugi panted his way up the stairs. It felt like hundreds of steps instead of dozens. But he made it to the top, caught his breath, and a minute later had the beacon off, the fog horn turned on, and was ready to head back down.

Until Atem pulled into existence before him, stopped him with an arm blocking his way.

Yugi’s curious look was met with a stern one. The ghost pointed towards the radio on the shelf.

He’d almost forgotten. He was tired and sore and his thoughts were full of getting back to the warm, dry house. But Atem was right. With a sigh Yugi took a seat on the stool, picked up the microphone, and swung his feet absently as he thought about what to say to the coast guard.

If there was a radio in Pegasus’ house, he’d be able to listen. Could very well be the _only_ one listening if Honda and his crew weren’t within range. And Yugi didn’t have any idea how to even begin to describe what had happened yesterday without sounding absolutely paranoid.

But those bare cupboards wouldn’t re-stock themselves, so he sent out a call.

Honda’s voice answered after a minute, voice crackling over the airwaves with a warm familiarity. But instead of relief, Yugi tensed. Struggled to articulate the simple ask of _I need help_. Felt his voice start to shake, and his hands start to sweat.

But Honda, as before, responded with a calm and encouraging professionalism. Once he’d clarified that no one was _actively dying_ , he directed Yugi to a non-emergency channel to talk.

“What’s going on?”

Yugi hesitated, looking around for Atem, but the ghost was once again a shadow on the wall, a heavy, faceless presence behind his shoulders.

 _Stick to the basic facts_ , he told himself. “I… my boat dumped yesterday. I met Joey for supplies on the shore, but I lost everything on my way back.” He wasn’t sure how much more to say about it, so waited for the reply.

Honda’s voice came back irritable. “He made you cross the Sound? He should have come right to you—”

Yugi forgot to let him finish, cut Honda off with a press of a button as he hurried to defend his friend. “It wasn’t his decision.” No, he didn’t want anyone to think it was Joey’s fault. He’d _wanted_ to do things right. To watch out for Yugi. “It was Mr. Crawford. He’s staying at his house, wanted me to come meet him.” His heart rate ratcheted up at the thought of those hard, gray eyes, watching him over a glass of dark red wine. “He kept me late. I shouldn’t have come back at low tide and I—”

It was like he was there again. The rocks. The water. The fog. The red scales. Yugi thought he was going to pass out as he continued in a breathless rush. “There was something in the water, and I hit the rocks and—”

Atem’s hand reached around to grip his arm fiercely, trembling furiously at the mention of _Crawford_ , at Yugi’s account of the day. The rest of him, his heavy cloak, pressed against Yugi’s back, and his face bent towards Yugi’s neck.

Yugi paused to gather himself. Let himself lean back just a little into that cold embrace. He wasn’t alone here, he reminded himself again. Atem wouldn’t leave him to whatever fate Pegasus intended. When Yugi said a quiet _thank you, Atem_ , the ghost didn’t let go.

Instead he curled in even closer, snaking his other hand out from under his cloak to wind it around Yugi.

And it was a terrible moment to realise he’s never _seen_ Atem’s right hand before. The ghost had always kept it hidden from view.

Why was now obvious. His breath caught in his throat, eyes fixed on that bloody arm. It looked thick and wet and slick on his skin, but where Atem clutched at him it left only a temporary smear before fading into nothing.

There was more blood, Yugi knew, hidden under the layers of fabric pressed to his back. His heart thundered with the thought of it, and there was a hurricane roaring within his head as Atem desperately held on to Yugi, and to the present.

Honda’s furious rant cut through the air.

“—we told him he needed to check on you, not make you go to him. I can’t believe that bastard. He should know better. He’s so goddamn selfish. Are you hurt? We’ll come out to you.”

Yugi struggled to hear the words as a storm pressed against his senses _._ He was staring, transfixed, at Atem’s red hand twisted in his shirt.

He forced out a response. “…No, I’m not hurt.” Yes, he could feel every one of his bruised ribs under Atem’s crushing hold. The sting of scrapes on his knuckles and palms. How his heart fluttered coming up the stairs. A hint of something wet and crackling in his lungs. “At least, nothing serious. I’m just going to be out of food soon. I’ll be okay until Joey comes back for Pegasus in a couple days, if you can ask him to bring more for me then.”

After a few seconds Honda replied, “Are you sure? We can swing by sooner, with at least some basic stuff. See if we can’t get a medic to check you over, too. It won’t be a problem.”

It sounded wonderfully tempting, and Yugi had to steel himself against that considerate offer. “No, that’s really okay.” He didn’t want Honda coming for him in that inflatable orange dingy. God, what a terrifying thought it was now; a tiny little boat crossing the Sound. A disaster waiting to happen. “You don’t have to come here. I’ll wait for Joey.”

There was silence for a minute. Maybe some debate happening on the other end, before a skeptical reply came back. “If you say so. We’ll connect with Joey, but if anything changes, you give us a shout, alright?”

Yugi agreed, and let the radio go quiet.

The radio was silent, but his head wasn’t. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do as he waited another minute for Atem to calm down.

“It’s alright,” he said softly as another minute crept by. “We’re both alright.” He had no idea if Atem could really hear him. But slowly, slowly the ghost released his hold. Pulled his hands away, and stepped back. The cold lingered though. Had cut like a brand through Yugi’s coat and sweaters to the skin beneath.

Yugi shivered, but as Atem faded into something incorporeal, drifted away to a polite distance, Yugi held out his hand. “It’s alright,” he repeated. “I’m here.”

*

Atem chose to stay invisible, didn’t take the offered hand. But he was _close_. A shadow right under Yugi’s palm as he wound his way down the stairs. Hovered at his back as they crossed the foggy path to the house.

Close enough to touch his elbow or his shoulder as Yugi brewed his tea.

And as soon as Yugi took a seat at the kitchen table, Atem made himself visible. He pushed a chair right up alongside Yugi’s. Yugi stifled a yawn as he stirred around the bowl of plain cream wheat that was his breakfast. The first bite made him cough, and he pushed it away in favour of the tea.

As he blew on his tea, his eyes landed on the stack of the logbook that still lay on the table. Deciding it was light enough to read, he pulled it towards himself.

“I didn’t write anything yesterday,” Yugi started to explain as he flipped to the current page.

He stopped when he glanced at Atem. The ghost was leaning one elbow on the table, chin in his palm, his other bloody arm once again concealed from view. And he was looking at Yugi as if nothing else existed in the world.

“…What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

And then it was Atem’s turn to be embarrassed, as though only now realizing Yugi could see him. He shrugged and shifted his attention to the open book to see what Yugi would write.

Yugi hesitated with the pen on the page. But the ghost wasn’t judging, only waiting, and Yugi decided this feigned curiosity was better than the reverent look Atem had been wearing seconds earlier.

_September 9 th. Mainly sunny. Clear until evening fog._

He stared at the page. The more he thought about yesterday, the more he couldn’t think of what to say. There was only the sinking realization that it was _his turn_ to start writing _really weird_ entries in these journals. He drummed the pen against the table, wondered if he should skirt around whatever had happened, like he had the past few weeks. Or if he should bite the bullet and put what he knew. Leave a message for future keepers?

Not that he had read or paid much attention to his predecessors notes himself. He peeked again at Atem out of the corner of his eye.

Out of everything, that was the saddest thought. That Yugi was likely nothing more than a blip to the ghost. The latest in a long string of visitors. More people would come after him, and Atem would still be here. Ignored or feared or forgotten.

“Did anyone else know your name?”

Atem was caught off guard for a moment, and then shook his head as he fixed that soft look on Yugi once again.

The answer honestly surprised him. Yugi had taken a little over a week to ask, granted with some encouragement from his shipwrecked guests. But no one in the countless decades before had ever thought to? “Rude,” he muttered.

A small, amused smile pulled at Atem’s lips, and Yugi couldn’t believe anyone _wouldn’t_ want to know more about him. With a blush he turned back to the page before him.

 _The ghost is named Atem_ , he wrote clearly, and underlined it.

Yugi glanced at him again, and Atem was staring hard at the letters of his name. Tense and pained, like those simple pen strokes were an unexpected and stark reminder of all the things he’d lost. All the lost potential. All the dreams and ambitions and hopes that came with a _life_ and a _name_.

As he watched something storm across Atem’s face, Yugi was struck by the thought that he’d wasted every moment of his _own_ life until now. Directionless and aimless. And that he had the rare opportunity to do something differently than anyone else before. He could be brave, could maybe help in some way, and make a small difference for someone. A single person. This lost spirit sitting beside him.

Yugi pushed the book away. They didn’t even know his _name_. And all the while Atem was sitting _right here_.

“Will you tell me about this place? About yourself?”

Atem stared at the page a second longer before turning his eyes to Yugi, blinking curiously.

Yugi sat still, didn’t say anything further, and finally Atem’s expression turned serious. Realised what was being asked. That he was being offered a chance to speak.

The ghost shifted even closer, so their knees touched, and raised his hand towards Yugi’s face. Waited until Yugi nodded before carefully resting his palm on Yugi’s cheek.

The room was no longer silent. Yugi could hear the ocean, though it was no longer a storm, only gentle waves and wind like the dawn breaking over the Sound outside. He sat stiffly, hands fisted in his lap and breath held and heart thumping away. Waited for Atem to turn into darkness and seep through his skin. To push Yugi out so that he might speak.

But the ghost didn’t move right away, and Yugi finally had to let out a nervous breath.

More seconds ticked by, and when Yugi finally found the courage to meet Atem’s eyes, he found they were closed, in meditation or in prayer. Entirely still, like the hand against his face.

As he waited, watching that calm face, Yugi tried to breathe. To match the calmness and composure of the ghost and forget the nerves that were making his palms sweat. He let his own eyes fall shut. Focused on that touch. Listened to that ocean that was both _here_ and _not here._

When the ghost finally sank into him, Yugi’s eyes were still closed. He didn’t see it, but he felt it. Knew it was happening, though not the way he’d expected. Not a tsunami of shadows like before, but instead a nudge somewhere deep beside his heart, like dark waves bumping against a moored boat. And Yugi tried to ride the swells that carried him out of the present.

*

 _Then_ was a long time ago. The shoes on his feet were fluorescent green, fastened with velcro and a dinosaur sticker stuck on top of the right toe.

 _There_ was the front step of his grandfather’s game shop.

For a moment Yugi didn’t know what kind of memory this was supposed to be. It wasn’t familiar like the others had been.

But his past-self was sitting on the step on a spring afternoon, humming a nursery tune, legs stretched out, feet knocking together. Waiting for someone. And as seconds passed like hours the present-Yugi had no choice but to settle into this curious moment.

A bell on the door behind him tingled brightly. It made his heart leap. A sound he recognized even in adulthood, because grandpa has kept that same chime through all the years he ran the store.

Then-Yugi leaned backwards to smile at his grandpa. The sight of him was delightful for him, but bittersweet for the present-Yugi. His hair was a little less gray, and his skin a little less worn, and his eyes so much brighter than they had been at the end. Yugi wanted to run to him, hug him, tell him he loved him. But he was confined to the actions of his young self and so he sat, head tipped backwards and laughing at the upside-down sight of his grandpa.

Sugoroku asked him a question, in that oddly garbled voice. Yugi couldn’t quite make it out, but his past self answered lightly.

“Waiting for dad to get back.”

And oh, the fallen look on his grandpa’s face, and Yugi’s own hindsight made the moment suddenly cut deeply. His father wouldn’t be coming. He had walked out the door, with a ruffle of Yugi’s hair, and never looked back.

Yugi wanted to hug his past self as much as he wanted to hug his grandpa.

And everything hurt a little less when his grandpa knelt down to do just that. Yugi relished it, laughed with a heartbroken relief, alongside a peal of laughter from his younger self. Tried to hold on to every detail. How much bigger his grandpa was than him, how he smothered him in his arms, the faint smell of old cologne in his shirt, how his beard scratched when he placed a kiss on Yugi’s nose.

And when his grandpa invited the tiny version of Yugi back inside, Yugi wanted to go with him. More than anything. He knew there wasn’t any point to sitting out on the step. His grandpa had always been more of a father to him than anyone else.

But that wasn’t what he’d done. Then-Yugi cheerily said he’d keep waiting. And Yugi wasn’t in control so he had to wait, too. Waiting for someone who had left and who hadn’t cared to come back.

Customers stepped around him to enter the shop, and that bell above him chimed lightly with a song that spoke to his heart of _home_ and _family_. And Yugi waited where he was.

Waited as night fell and the streetlights came on.

Waited.

…How long did he sit there for?

Too long, or long enough.

Because Atem had been waiting, too. Sitting comfortably in Yugi’s seat at the table, patiently waiting for Yugi’s mind to come back to the _here_ and _now_. And Yugi had arrived, with a bittersweet melancholy dragging at his heart. Aching but bearable compared to previous memories.

Like before, he was in his own body, with a second heart tucked against his own. A dark, obtrusive weight that pushed against him, but not so ominous. Not so suffocating.

The sensation of not breathing, of not being in control was still alarming, and there was still the sound of waves crashing through his head. But Yugi could sit like this. This was better than before. Better than expected.

“Yes, this was a little better, I think,” Atem agreed, and Yugi felt a hesitant smile stretch across his own face. The ghost took another inhale, slow, savouring the sensation. Let out a steady breath. He was trying to stay calm, to keep the shadow of himself somehow smaller, or lighter, so that it might not weigh so hard on Yugi.

He spoke again, this time an apology. “I am sorry for all the loved ones you have lost. It would seem we are both lost souls, in a way.”

The words caught Yugi off guard. Could Atem see those memories? Hear his thoughts? Feel the pain in his heart?

“Yes,” he answered simply.

Maybe it should have felt invasive, but Yugi felt an unexpected relief. Didn’t feel judged, or exposed. Just relieved that there was someone else to share his heavy heart with.

If he heard these thoughts, Atem didn’t acknowledge them. “You must leave this place, Yugi.” His name came out soft from his lips, like it was something precious. “Go when your friend comes in the aeroplane. There is nothing for you here.”

It was spoken so gently that for a moment Yugi didn’t understand what he was asking. And then the sting of it hit. He wanted to stay. To help. To do something useful here. And Atem wanted him _gone_?

“This is my burden to bear. You can _leave_.” The words were laced with envy.

Yugi was a little hurt, and more than skeptical. Couldn’t help but think of hardly an hour ago, when Atem clung to him with that bloody arm. The way he lost himself at the mere mention of _Crawford_. Not so much _bearing a burden_ , as _barely coping_.

And he immediately regretted his careless thoughts. For thinking of the Earl of Crawford as plainly as if he’d spoken aloud.

The name was like a spell, or a curse. An accidental invocation, and Atem lost his careful composure. And inside of Yugi, the darkness swelled around his heart into something immense and angry. The wind in his ears whipped up from a calm breeze into a screaming frenzy.

It cloyed the few senses he had. The shadow of Atem was massive again, and everything that was Yugi was being _squeezed_ into nothing.

In a panic he tried to cry out with _Atem stop please_ —

And he may have been voiceless but his thoughts rang clear. Like a light went on somewhere in that void. A glimpse of a bright window in a dark night. And Atem, lost somewhere in it, was able to fill Yugi’s lungs with a gasp of air. Was called towards it, Yugi’s words, his name, like a beacon back to himself.

Yugi was still trapped under the weight of that darkness, in the storm that lived inside the ghost, but it ebbed enough to think.

He realised the storm wasn’t Atem himself, but something he was trapped within. There were words being carried across the wind. An echo of Atem’s real voice, lost somewhere else, crying _where are you, I can’t see you_.

And Yugi answered, as a black storm raged inside and around him. Tried to hold on to himself before he was crushed under the weight of that darkness. He begged for him to come back, tried to help him find his way with _Atem it’s okay I’m here._

And Atem clawed his way out of it.

The storm shrank back into the space around Yugi’s heart.

And suddenly, they were back in the house, sheltered.

The ghost was still in Yugi’s borrowed body. Had fallen out of the chair onto the floor, and hands pressed against Yugi’s heart, panting and shaking like he’d swam the entire ocean to get back to this spot.

He took in a ragged breath like an afterthought.

Then a handful more, calming himself. And with each one Yugi had more _space_. Almost felt like he could breathe himself.

“Yugi,” Atem spoke finally, and there was fear in his voice. “Did I hurt you?”

Yugi wasn’t quite sure how to answer. He had no idea if the whole ordeal had taken a few seconds or an hour, because the moment had expanded into something timeless. And the idea that he could be crushed under that darkness, or that Atem could be lost within it, was terrifying and painful no matter what side you looked at it from. Both of them were hurt by it.

But it had passed, and Atem was here, placid again. They were both _okay_.

Something between a laugh and a sob came from Yugi’s throat. “You’re so kind. You’re _too_ kind. Sometimes I don’t know if you’re real.” Atem sat up only to bury his face in Yugi’s hands. “It frightens me, when you say my name and I can’t see you.”

Yugi felt with a deep certainty that he would say Atem’s name, over and over, as many times as needed, so that whenever the ghost was lost he could find his way back.

And Atem did sob this time, except there was no heaviness in his heart pushing down on Yugi’s. No expansion of shadows. It was a weightless relief.

*

The ghost had been ready to run right out of Yugi’s body, but Yugi found he could _hold on_ , how or to what exactly, he had no idea. But he held on all the same, reassured him with _it’s okay, I’m okay_. That he wasn’t being smothered by shadows, or driven to madness.

And Atem thankfully didn’t fight him. Kept _breathing_ until he was back to his quiet, attentive self, and Yugi’s heart was beating a calm, slow pace.

Yugi half expected him to return to the table, but the ghost sat Yugi’s body cross-legged in front of the furnace, perhaps a little closer to the heat than Yugi would have chosen to sit himself. But Yugi didn’t object. Remained a silent witness as Atem cautiously settled into his borrowed body. Couldn’t bring himself to interrupt as Atem wondered at the novelty.

“No one has ever borne this as you do,” Atem marveled in a hushed voice, as he traced the lines of Yugi’s palm.

“You are remarkable,” whispered tenderly, as he pressed a finger to the delicate pulse in Yugi’s wrist.

And he sat, for a full minute, with a hand on Yugi’s lips just to feel his warm breath, before murmuring words Yugi didn’t understand. The tone made his heart flutter all the same, and Atem dropped his hand in embarrassment.

“I forget myself, I apologize,” he said, and he placed Yugi’s hands on his knees.

 _What do you remember_ , Yugi asked when it seemed he would not move again.

“Many things,” Atem answered. “Things that could warm your heart, or tear you to pieces. Things that would frighten you.”

Yugi didn’t doubt the truth of it. But he wanted to know. The things the logbooks couldn’t tell him. The things he _should_ be afraid of here. And he would trust Atem to tell him. Would be willing to stay like this as long as needed so that he could listen.

“You cannot stay here,” he said, though he wrapped his arms around Yugi’s knees, hugged them to his chest like he never wanted to let go. “Go where the sun shines, and the water warm, and the people as good as you.”

Yugi didn’t know what paradise Atem was envisioning. Didn’t see why Atem would want to stay alone in this gray place. Wouldn’t his departure just condemn the next person who came here?

“ _No one_ should come here,” he said firmly.

_Will you tell me why?_

Atem said nothing for a while. He seemed to be weighing many options. “English is such a poor language for storytelling, and I have not had much practice,” he hedged.

Yugi thought that was a rather dubious claim for someone who seemed to speak so eloquently, but instead of badgering him with _what languages do you know_ or _you can practice with me_ , he wondered how else Atem might prefer to share his insight. Because that’s what this was for, right? Inviting a ghost into his head and heart so that he could borrow Yugi’s voice.

Atem hummed thoughtfully, and the vibration of it seemed to surprise him, because he brought a hand to Yugi’s chest. After a tense pause he let out a small laugh at himself and relaxed, but kept his hand where it was. “It might be possible for me to show you. If I may try something?”

Yugi agreed, intrigued.

“If we get lost, your heartbeat can carry you home.”

The warning made Yugi suddenly nervous, no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Atem closed his eyes, blocking out the world. Everything was dark, and Yugi _held on_. And whatever he was holding pulled at him. The expansive shadow inside was no longer a weight against his heart, he was being drawn into it, swallowed whole, and there was a whole other world on the other side.

*

They were suspended in a black fog, nothing solid below or around them, and it took a moment for Yugi to orient himself. To realise he wasn’t himself, but an occupant within the vague form of Atem, a possession in reverse. And he suddenly realised why Atem relished the sensations of Yugi’s body. Because there was nothing to feel here. Shrouded in something dull and timeless. It muffled the senses, except for the sound of an ocean, somewhere both nearby and far away.

Atem, still in control, was drifting through this place. Or maybe everything else was drifting around him, Yugi wasn’t sure. But through the black air came glimpses of other times. Night and day. Storms and sunshine. Thousands of days overlaid, nearly indistinguishable from the other.

Some vivid moments pierced through, clearer than others, like starlight. Voices and movements of the living that drew Atem into the present moment, like a call to action.

They passed one of these moments, and Yugi had the jarring sensation of seeing himself from the outside.

There he was, going about life on a little foggy island in too-big rainboots and an oversized raincoat. His own voice speaking casually to Atem, words ringing through the dark, calling the ghost out of something timeless into something close to _now._

And there was Yugi’s hand in his. Atem couldn’t quite feel it, but maybe if he got a little closer, held on a little tighter he might break through the veil of death, might be able to feel something warm again. So he held on desperately to that hand, to something close to _here._

And if he listened carefully, he could hear the steady drum of a heartbeat. A song of the living.

It was a little too surreal, to feel this heart ache like it was his own. Felt a little too private to be seeing this from Atem’s eyes. And Yugi was relieved when the ghost pulled away from these recent memories.

Atem didn’t speak as he moved further into the darkness, cautiously searching the mist. Was silent as he sought out other keepers whose words and actions had caught his attention.

They did not have to go far. The fog thinned, and they could see those that had come before. Though they were less distinct than Yugi had been. Grim, weathered faces that blurred into one another. So many of the same habits and routines. Life on the island unchanging through the years. Atem only half there, only sometimes watching, until something drew his attention fully.

Forays into the Sound always caught his attention.

Time was layered in such a way that Yugi couldn’t tell if he was watching the same boat, or a dozen different boats overturning in low tide. Because the constant wasn’t the person tumbling into the water but the _serpent_. Slipher was there, with its red scales and yellow eyes and rows of white teeth. Rising up when the tide was at its lowest, intent, but patient. Would always wait for the final watery exhale before descending upon its victims.

Yugi-as-Atem watched from the dock as those fangs crunched down on bones and flesh, body after body consumed, and thought he should be sick with fear. But all he could feel was Atem’s outrage. That this was _cruel_ and _selfish_ and _not how things were meant to be_ —

He wanted to ask _why_.

But Atem was slipping away.

Instead of feeling pressure against his heart, somewhere outside of all this, Yugi was trapped here with Atem as the ghost was overcome by anger. The fog became dense around their shoulders, and shadows rose up like a tide, engulfing them in something thicker than water.

And Yugi thought they might drown in it. He tried to call Atem’s name, beckon him out of the darkness as he had done from the outside.

But Yugi was as deep in this night as the ghost was, and black waves were washing them away. It swept them further away from the present, into other memories.

Darker ones.

Ones perhaps Atem hadn’t meant for him to see, but they were there all the same, incomplete and warped.

There was a man, or dozens of men. More washed out faces of other keepers, heavy hearts and heavy footsteps sounding through the monotony of the island, and in those gray days Atem drifted absently around them, day after day, until realizing too late that the beacon was not lit.

That instead someone was stepping onto the gallery deck

Over the guard rail

And _letting go_ —

And Yugi shared in that terror, and they both reached out to _stop them_ but it was too late.

And it kept happening. He couldn’t tell how many fell willingly, but he watched them, and Yugi wept for the dead, and Atem raged as Slipher accepted his dues.

And his anger took them further into the darkness.

The storm was closer.

There were _other_ keepers. The more Atem tried to follow, to intervene, the more desperate they were to escape. And the ones he did save from the water were condemned. He’d pull them to safety, walk in their skin, only to regret looking inside. He found the dark hearts of thieves. Murderers. Cheaters. _Traitors_. And their human hearts would crumble to madness under the weight of their sins or the weight of Atem’s righteous fury.

And oh, Atem was _furious_. At himself, at these foolish bastards, more so with each one that came here, each worse than the last, but none so bad as the man who’d _damned him—_

Yugi thought he was going mad himself, because he couldn’t look away from the flurry of anguished faces, those who fell not to the monster in the sound, but their own splintered sanity, trapped on an island with this vengeful ghost—

And for every keeper it was the same ending over and over and over, shocking and awful and tragic and Yugi was sick with it.

But Atem didn’t look away. Any life that didn’t end up in the water was a perverse victory. Guilt and resignation fed his anger, but he kept following them because how else could he stop it, stop _Crawford—_

The hurricane arrived.

Atem was swept by a black tide even further into _then and there_. Into a shrieking gale of wind and rain and thunder in the night.

There were no more keepers. No beacon slicing through the dark.

He was in the water, not drowning but bleeding out, until waves threw him onto the shore. It was too dark and the rain too heavy to see. All he could do was hold on. One hand clinging to the rocks, the other trying to hold himself together, slick with something warmer and thicker than sea water.

Atem was dying all over again.

A Yugi was dying with him, unsure where he started and Atem ended.

Deep wounds and a hot _betrayal_ scorched through him. He had fucked up. Been a fool to trust him. And he hated _Crawford_ for damning him with his selfish conceit.

So he held onto the shore, onto that anger, onto the hope that if he lived he could _put this right._

Held on as survival broke down into seconds. The world nothing but wind and waves. He could feel the warmth flowing out of him. His own wet breath. The sick realization that he wasn’t going to survive this.

That it was too late.

He was going to die alone on this shore far from home and he was _doomed_.

*

Yugi came to on the floor in the keeper’s quarters, gasping, clutching at his stomach, head ringing with a sudden emptiness.

Atem had finally managed to rip himself out of Yugi, and was crouched over him, desperate pleas of _wake up wake please wake up_ falling soundlessly from his lips. When their eyes met, Yugi saw an almost delirious relief on the ghost’s face, but he didn’t share it because he was pretty sure he was still dying.

The cooper taste of blood was still on his tongue. His insides twisted around deep wounds. If he closed his eyes he could see the faces of a hundred other men who’d died. And in his heart he could still feel the grotesque intimacy of Atem’s death echoing through him.

But Yugi wasn’t dying himself. His cough was dry, and there were no holes between his ribs. He wasn’t washed up on a rocky shore, and there was no hurricane screaming around him in the night.

His heart was still beating, whole and alive and here in the present. A slice of sunlight was coming through the window. The furnace was still warm. The room silent.

Yugi curled over on the floor, clasped his hands over his mouth, and let out a sob. A final, bitter note that had come back with him to the present. That had stayed inside when Atem left. All of Atem’s regret over naïve mistakes, longing for what could have been, and dissatisfaction with how things were.

It faded away eventually, but when Yugi finally opened his eyes, turned his head to look at the ghost, fear and regret were still painted clearly across Atem’s face. He was still kneeling beside Yugi’s prone body, hands out like he wanted so badly to _touch_ and was absolutely terrified to do so.

They stared at each other for a long minute.

It had all ended up a tsunami of memories, and Yugi was trying to make sense of it. Atem and Slipher and all the keepers that had come here and met their end, one way or another.

He felt nauseous, but there wasn’t anything in him to come up, so he lay there, shuddering. Waited a little longer until he felt decidedly alive, if not a little worse for wear. It was probably the leftover ache from falling in the water, and not the fault of a ghost accidentally let loose to rampage around inside of him.

He glanced up, and Atem’s shameful remorse was still plain on his face. “I’m okay,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was true. He reached out a hand anyway. Atem didn’t take it.

Yugi insisted. “It’s not your fault. None of what happened was your fault. You just tried to help. And people didn’t understand.”

Atem shook his head in disbelief and backed away.

Well, perhaps Atem wasn’t being entirely unreasonable. Yugi felt like he had no bones left in him to pick himself up, and let his hand fall to the floor.

Atem didn’t move to help him. He remained kneeing, unmoving, just out of reach.

They stayed as they were, and sunlight trekked slowly through the window and across the floor. The fog had lifted, and it wasn’t morning anymore. Yugi stared at the dusty beams, thinking for a moment how Atem watched, vigilant, for hours and months and years, to keep foolish keepers from foolhardy accidents. And how that backfired in every horrifying way possible. _No good deed goes unpunished_.

And that wasn’t fair at all.

That thought finally spurred him to move. He levered himself off the floor and into the chair and propped himself up on the table with his elbows.

The logbook was still open to the page where he had underlined Atem’s name.

He could still see the faces of those grizzled old men, falling over and over, to Slipher or to madness. But the sum of those memories was hardly more than a senseless thread of pearls in a vast dark ocean. No clearer a picture than the stack of waterlogged pages he’d tried to read.

He still didn’t understand Atem’s connection to Slipher, or the Crawfords. Only knew his regret and sense of betrayal. Yugi turned to look at Atem again. The ghost was standing behind him a respectful distance away, expression shuttered.

And Yugi considered all this. While maybe he didn’t know quite where he was going with his own life, he could so clearly see Atem in that strange darkness. And for perhaps the first time, he felt a tentative confidence. That he might at least be able to help someone else who was lost.

Atem may have asked him to leave, but Yugi was going to stay. This was some kind of maze, a puzzle, that Atem couldn’t navigate alone. And Yugi could be the one to help him find his way.

“Maybe you can try to tell me more later,” Yugi suggested, as though he hadn’t just lived a second-hand death.

And maybe he should have explained his train of thought better, because Atem was abruptly back in his space. His hand snapped out to grasp Yugi’s chin, tilting his head up even further so he could examine Yugi’s face, as though convinced he’d thoroughly broken him. Searching for some kind of visible crack in his sanity.

Yugi didn’t look away. Ignored the sound of rushing waves that flooded his ears from somewhere far back in Atem’s past. “It was alright at the start. We can be careful. We won’t get lost next time.”

Atem stared at him hard, face stony, for a long moment. And then he leaned forward. Yugi couldn’t help but tense, because he hadn’t meant _right now_ , and Atem didn’t look especially _calm—_

A soft kiss landed on Yugi’s forehead. A gentle rebuff to say _that’s enough._

It was kind, but it wasn’t an agreement. Atem let him go, fading into nothing. And though he was somewhere in the room, he kept his distance from Yugi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently it’s spelled _Slifer_. After spending a solid two weeks feeling very stupid, I have decided to leave it as Slipher as a testament to my sins. thanks for bearing with me.


	9. Chapter 9

_“At a time when the majority of lighthouses are being automated, community advocates question the continued manual operation of the Crawford Sound lighthouse. “Prolonged isolation kills people, and there is no justification for solitary keepers to be posted there,” said Dr. Dunbar, attending physician at the Hawkins Harbour clinic. In response to growing pressure, the estate that manages the privately owned landmark released a statement, noting that the unique geography poses technical limitations that prohibit automation, but added that future staffing efforts would prioritize recruiting pairs of compatible, qualified personnel where possible.”_ ~ The Harbour Times, May 24th, 1990

*

Atem avoided him the rest of the day leaving emptiness instead to linger around Yugi. If he tried to get too close, the ghost would move away through a wall. But when Yugi’s back was turned, he could feel Atem’s gaze boring into him from across the room.

Through the slow hours of the day, if Yugi sat still long enough, kept his eyes averted, that chill in the air would drift a little closer, as though pulled towards Yugi’s warmth the same way Yugi could feel the gravity of Atem’s shadow. But when he turned to face the presence coming up behind him Atem would snap away to a far corner.

Yugi could still feel Atem’s envious plea on his own tongue; _you can leave_. But Yugi had also witnessed the way he’d sat so still within his body, relishing a warmth he couldn’t experience on his own. So Yugi held on to the knowledge that he wouldn’t be going anywhere and went about his day. Spent the hours wondering how to draw him back in while Atem remained a chess piece that moved around him, invisible.

He wanted to crawl upstairs to rest, but thought that might not do much to convince Atem he was _perfectly fine_. So Yugi pulled apart one of the puzzles and set about piecing it together once again. Shuffled the deck of cards and laid out a game of memory. Voiced intentionally wrong answers to the hints in the book of crossword puzzles.

It did nothing to entice Atem to the table.

When it was time to trek up the tower to turn on the beacon for the night, Atem still followed him up, a few steps further behind than normal. Yugi was grateful. He felt bonelessly weak, and a headache that wouldn’t fade sat behind his eyes, and his bruised ribs made him wince with every breath. There was the distant thought that if he collapsed it might spur Atem to come close again.

But Yugi kept going.

From the watch room he looked at the quiet radio. Honda’s offer to send over a medic was tempting all the same, but the Sound had been whipped into a froth by a building wind, white foam frothing in the water, like a rabid dog. And though there was no serpent to be seen, he could see a faint prick of light across the strait. A room in the house that Pegasus occupied. Yugi shivered.

The Crawfords built a tower far away from the rest of the world, a convenient landmark that called person after person to these dangerous waters. And Pegasus, the latest in line, was clearly waiting for someone to fall in.

He couldn’t call Honda. He could get by until Joey returned by plane. What he needed for now was to know what to do about Atem.

Atem, who was still unseen, something cold near the stairwell, and Yugi thought of how only a few weeks ago the presence there would have been too close for comfort. Now all he wanted was for him to be closer.

How quickly things change, for a place that never changes.

Yugi watched the beacon spin, a warning in the night, until the thought that Pegasus was likely watching it too made him hurry back to the house.

He choked down another tin of plain tuna and one of tart pineapple as he jotted down a banal entry for the day. His stomach churned, and his head spun, and having no energy for anything else, he gave in and dragged himself up the stairs to sleep.

As he changed his clothes, he paused to examine the darkened bruises around his ribs. They were a furious expanse of black and violet, darker than they had been in the morning, before Atem’s second possession. As he scowled, he felt goosebumps on his skin. Atem was watching him from the door.

Yugi pulled his shirt down quickly. “Don’t worry, I just need to rest,” he said. “Could you wake me in the morning?”

He waited for any kind of response, and his heart sank when there was none. So he dug his phone out of a suitcase, plugged it in to charge, and set an alarm.

*

He woke from a nightmare in the darkest hour of the night. A sea of anguished faces he did not know, drowning or jumping or wailing, fell away to a stark, empty room.

The sheer distance between where he lay on this tiny bed and the nearest living person made him tremble. The nearest _friendly_ person was far greater. A nameless fear gripped him. The idea that he would end up alone and wretched and _dead_ like all the others.

Yugi pressed his hands over his mouth to hold in a whimper.

“Atem, are you here?” He let the words slip past his fingers. Doubted he had spoken loud enough for his voice to carry over the rain that drummed against the roof.

But Atem was nearby and heard his name. Seemingly unable to resist the summon, he came over, drifting through the dark room.

Yugi couldn’t see anything in the night, but he felt his presence and held very still. Hoped that Atem might take a seat on the edge of the bed. Take his hand again.

Instead, fingertips touched his face. They traced down the curve of his cheek, passing over Yugi’s hands still clamped over his mouth. And paused there as though hesitating. Yugi held his breath. He didn’t know if he should say something. If he should speak his fears aloud. If he should remain frozen.

Just as he was about to say _don’t leave me,_ Atem abruptly left through the closed door.

*

Yugi woke again on his own, no nudge from Atem, and no alarm from his phone. There was a hint of grey in the pre-dawn light, a heavy rain still pattering against the window, and Yugi rolled over to check the time.

His phone was dead despite being plugged in. When he tried to turn it on, it was nothing but a brick in his hands. He scowled at it, then set it back on the floor. Atem’s handiwork.

“Not cool,” he grumbled, feeling distinctly betrayed, and hurried to get ready and head downstairs. He knew the ghost wanted him to leave, but sabotaging his alarm? Frying his phone so that he’d sleep in? Yugi knew exactly what he was up to.

“Nice try, but I am _not_ letting the coast guard come here. I’ll be fine until Joey gets here,” Yugi scolded the empty chair by the window as he pulled on his raincoat. The cold air occupying it was unbothered. And though he couldn’t see him, Yugi could easily imagine Atem’s shrug of indifference, the twinkle of humour in his eyes that would say _worth a shot_.

Even though he gave no response, Atem followed him out the door into the downpour. Trailed behind as Yugi tried to pretend his legs weren’t shaking with every step up the tower.

Yugi pointedly ignored the radio as he turned off the beacon. But he spared a glance at the gray haze over the Sound. The near-deserted village across the way was hidden from view, but Yugi’s pulse sped up in the cage of his bruised ribs. Dreams came back to him, unbidden. Of being alone here with nothing but a waiting monster.

He needed Atem to stop _haunting around_ like this and just _be here_.

Yugi moved back to the stairs where Atem hid, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the ghost went down ahead of him, and Yugi swallowed his words.

They retreated to the house, and Atem filled his usual space by the window. Yugi kicked off his soaked shoes and set them down beside the furnace to dry before stepping into the kitchen.

While the kettle boiled, Yugi leaned against the counter and stared through the door to the empty chair.

“Can I… talk to you?” he asked cautiously. “I don’t think this… is good for either of us.”

And as annoyed as Yugi understood that Atem was trying to push him away, the forced solitude between them was an unnecessary suffering. Yugi had seen the way Atem could be called to the _now_. Pulled out of loneliness and darkness with a word. Had felt the way he could be held _here_ by something warm, like a heartbeat.

He blushed at the thought of a gentle hand against his face in the night.

“You didn’t break me. You don’t have to stay away,” he said, still facing the kettle.

The room was quiet, except for the hiss of the heating water and the murmur of rain outside. Yugi peeked over his shoulder. There was a shadow on the wall behind him. Atem was listening.

“I want to stay here with you, if you’ll let me.” Yugi knew too well how it felt. To be left behind. He didn’t want to do that to this lost soul trapped here.

He slowly turned towards the shadow. Atem didn’t move.

So Yugi shifted over to press his hand against the wall.

Atem shifted away, enough so they wouldn’t touch, but he didn’t leave.

Yugi was encouraged, and kept talking. “You’ve been trying to help other people. Let me try to help you.”

Maybe it was an arrogant idea, to think he could change something here. That he might be able to help this ghost escape the darkness that shrouded him. But there was no doubt that he wanted to try. If only Atem would come back in and tell him how.

He patiently kept his hand where it was.

“If there’s some way to help you, I’d like you to tell me.” He saw the shadow move, like Atem was shaking his head. Yugi let out a sigh. “…If that’s not possible, I’d still like to know more about you.”

Even without a face, Yugi could feel that Atem was watching him intently. It was such a simple offer, to be _known_ and _not alone_. Yugi had come to realise how much he craved these simple things, and he could only hope that maybe Atem, who had been here so long, wanted the same things.

Yugi waited. He didn’t want to ruin this. A day of forced distance between them was already too much. Being alone here was not easy. Especially when he didn’t have to be.

He waited longer. Wanted so badly to coax Atem over the cusp, back into the sphere of Yugi’s reach.

“Atem, please,” he finally begged, and at hearing his name, the ghost seemed to lose his resolve too.

The shadow of his hand slid underneath Yugi’s, cautious and slow, and when Yugi pressed his palm flat against the wallpaper, he thought he could feel Atem pressing back.

“It’s alright. You’re not hurting me,” Yugi said, a little breathless. He leaned his head against the wall, weak with relief, or lack of sleep and food. He couldn’t hear Atem’s distant hurricane in his head like this, but he could feel the weight of the shadows, static against his skin. Reassured that Atem was close, Yugi let his eyes fall shut.

They stood, hand to hand, brow to brow, resting in the moment until the kettle whistled.

Yugi reluctantly turned to fill his mug, but a smile graced his lips as the shadow finally _finally_ left the wall and followed his movements as a cloud of air.

Atem didn’t show himself, but he kept close and Yugi’s heart leapt with victory when Atem took a seat next to him at the table instead of by the window. Couldn’t help smiling, because Atem was the only thing that made this place bearable. The one thing to banish the fears that lay beyond the walls of the house.

And Yugi felt light for a while, until the weariness of his own body caught up to him again. It dragged his head down to the surface of the table, hardly able to keep awake, and there was an invisible hand, hesitantly prodding at him.

“I’ll go rest for a bit,” he agreed, and there was a palm, low on his back, guiding him up the stairs.

When he lay down, there was an indent in the blanket where Atem sat close to his hip.

“I’m going to stay,” Yugi mumbled, already halfway to sleep, and he extended his hand once again. He had the energy to smile as the air turned heavy and Atem materialized into something solid.

Atem didn’t smile back though. His face was painted with a somber expression. And when he didn’t take Yugi’s hand, Yugi was suddenly scared he might just leave again. He grasped Atem’s wrist, and an ocean rushed into his senses.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Any of Atem’s remaining resolve seemed to drain out of him, the tense line of his shoulders falling, and he surprised Yugi by moving in, trying to lay down on top of the blankets. Yugi didn’t protest, just shimmied back to make space as Atem settled himself into the small space of the bed. His thick cloak and robes were bundled around him much the same as Yugi wrapped in the quilt. Only their joined hands exposed between them, Atem’s resting lightly on top of Yugi’s.

And once settled, Atem closed his eyes, focused deeply on _this moment_.

Yugi could hardly remember how to breathe.

He had come up here to rest. Had been seconds from passing out from exhaustion. But now he wasn’t sure how he’d ever sleep. Couldn’t look away from those long eyelashes. The faintest furrow in that brow. The blond bangs framing that bronze face just inches from his own.

He wanted to keep this image in his mind for eternity. Let Atem live a second life cherished in Yugi’s own memories.

Maybe he stared for too long, because Yugi suddenly found himself pinned by Atem’s sharp gaze. He flushed at being caught staring, but the same embarrassment just as quickly flashed across Atem’s face, and the ghost started to sit up to leave.

“No no no no,” Yugi gripped his hand before he could get away. “It’s alright, please stay.”

The ghost pulled his hand away anyway, but he settled back down and Yugi couldn’t help the huff of laughter when he placed it over Yugi’s eyes. “Yes, I know, I’ll try to sleep. Just don’t mess around and promise to wake me up this time?”

Atem’s touch moved to his cheek, and Yugi saw the plain worry in Atem’s expression.

“Don’t worry about me. Joey’ll be here in a few days, and you’ll help me ‘til then, right?” Yugi offered. He held on to the words _and I’ll find a way to help you too._

Atem hesitated only a moment longer before nodding.

And Yugi was finally able to sleep easy, soothed by the presence beside him and the sensation of Atem’s fingers tracing lightly over his face.

*

The dream was strangely vivid.

Yugi recognized the Domino City Airport. The place was brightly lit, crowds of people all around, but there was only one person to focus on. Anzu was standing before him, wearing her favourite jean jacket, a boarding pass in hand, and a little rolling suitcase parked by her feet.

Her voice sounded as though she was speaking from underwater, but Yugi didn’t need to hear the words. He would know the look on her face anywhere. She was asking if he would be alright.

And the words _don’t worry about me_ left his mouth before he could even think them.

This was another memory, Yugi realized. The face of his past self was bearing a bright smile while his heart stuttered with the fear that this would be the last time he’d see his best friend.

But he wanted her to go. Her path had always been always so clear to her, and her heart bold enough to pursue her dreams. She had the opportunity to dance, and Yugi wanted that for her.

At least one of them knew what they were striving for.

Still, when she leaned down to hug him, he held on tight, both this past self and his present self, longer than maybe appropriate, because both sides of him knew that as soon as she turned around there’d be no one left.

A garbled announcement called her away towards her gate, and she tried not to cry as she waved goodbye. She managed it better than Yugi. She was the toughest person he knew, and he _wasn’t._ But she was always good like that, never pointing out his weak moments. Instead she spun away, striding gracefully towards her future.

It was definitely a memory, and not a dream. And the feelings then were the same now. Where was he supposed to go from here? He was alone and didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Except he wasn’t alone.

There was the sound of waves on the shore.

A foreign pressure against his heart.

A ghost.

He was still in Crawford Sound, in a dark, quiet room. The rain had stopped. Yugi had rolled over at some point, and Atem was curled against his back, his left arm across Yugi’s chest, holding him close.

Very close. Close enough that Yugi could feel that second consciousness in his head. But not fully there, not in control. Drifting somewhere else in that black void. Perhaps resting, if ghosts did such a thing.

Yugi was able to speak, whisper a question into the night.

“Atem?”

And someone else exhaled with his lips. Pulled him even closer. And the response was spoken just as softly, with Yugi’s mouth, “I’m here.”

They both froze, Yugi brought fully out of sleep and Atem pulled fully into _now_ by the strangeness of it, and they stayed, unmoving, until one of them remembered to breathe.

“You’re in my head,” Yugi said, only as an observation, but Atem tensed and the shadow in Yugi’s mind started to fade. He tried to hold on to it. “I’m glad I can hear you.”

Atem stopped pulling away, but the hand over Yugi’s heart clenched into a fist.

“…Then please listen. I want you to leave.”

Yugi’s mouth spoke the words, and he shivered at the peculiar way his voice was his but _not_. And he could hear the soft plea in the words, but Yugi could also feel Atem’s face buried in the back of his neck. How tightly Atem held on, and Yugi tried not to fidget as his ribs throbbed under the pressure.

Yugi brought his hand to cover Atem’s fist. He didn’t want to argue, or push him away. Atem’s words were too rare and few to be wasted like that. His presence a gift in this place.

“If I go, what will happen to you here?”

It was a long moment before he replied: “I will be happy you’re gone.”

The words stung, but Atem hadn’t moved. Hadn’t stopped clinging to Yugi.

“And what will happen to you? To the next person to come here?”

“Stop, Yugi.” The rebuke was soft and maybe a little sad. “Don’t think of this place. It’s far too late to change anything here. Leave and live your life.”

Yugi had always felt that his life wasn’t anything of note, but to hear that request from someone who had lost their own chance… to have someone trapped by their past ask him earnestly to look to the future… It did exactly the opposite of what Atem wanted. It fed Yugi’s desire to do something meaningful. Right here. Make a difference for one person.

He traced the heavy rings on Atem’s hand, gold set with rubies and emeralds, and the ghost relaxed enough that Yugi could thread his fingers into the spaces between. He wondered if Atem could feel this touch, or if it only came to him as a disjointed feedback from the thin connection to Yugi’s own senses.

“Tell me about when you were alive,” Yugi asked instead. “Where are you from?”

Atem was silent for a long while, and Yugi wasn’t sure if he had inadvertently sent the ghost on a spiraling journey through his dark past. But Atem’s cool hand was solid in his, and he could still feel a nose pressed against his neck.

And then Atem sighed through him, a breath that slipped out past Yugi’s own lips. He wasn’t sure who closed his eyes, and it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between the unbroken darkness of night, or the swirling darkness of the ghost’s thoughts. A heavy shadow enveloped Yugi’s senses all the same, pulling him into that void, but instead of losing control they drifted together into the fog.

*

The sun had nearly set, the oncoming night a relief from the dry heat. The river was dark and deep and calm. Birds cooed in the reeds.

A woman was wading in the water, a basket held aloft, and Atem, barely as tall as her hip, followed, hand fisted in her skirt. She was singing a song, a lilting tune. And Yugi was a presence in Atem’s mind, unable to parse the words of this language, but he could _understand_. It was something of royalty, and magic, and dragons.

When they were deep enough she set the basket, laden with fruit and spiced meat, afloat in the water and a young Atem helped her push it out into the slow current. He watched the basket intently, because he wanted to _see it_ this time.

“Come, my minnow.” Her words sounded distant, watery, and her face blurred, details lost to time. But there was a smile somewhere there, and warmth in her voice as she took her son’s small hand to lead him back to the shore.

He followed her, and when Atem looked over his shoulder at the wide expanse of the river, the basket was gone.

“Do not be so eager to see him,” she chided. They sat on a brightly coloured blanket, laid over the soft mud of the riverbank, and she spread out the layers of her skirt to dry. “Slipher is not a spirit to trifle with.”

Atem was still staring at the water. Yugi, somewhere behind his eyes, wondered if maybe that was a ripple of red scales passing just below the surface, as Atem said, “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Of course not.” She teased fingers through his hair, twisting it into short braids. “Answer me this, my clever one. Where I came from is good, where I go to is good, and where I am is eternal.”

And Atem knew this riddle, because she had told him these poems a thousand times. He had seen his cousins baptised in the water, and a funeral boat for _habboba_ set out at dusk much like the basket of fruits. A river that birthed and devoured entire civilizations. An amulet in gold glinted at his neck, a gift passed down from a river god to an ancestral mother who prayed for _life_.

The answer was always recited the same way: “The river is more generous than your stories,” he said with a smile.

“And so we must be thankful.”

Yugi didn’t quite understand this exchange, but Atem was peaceful here. He lay with his head on her lap, listening as she told a story. One of a long-ago queen whose child was taken too soon, and the river god that answered her prayers. A dragon that gifted life, and took their bodies back upon death as payment. A blessing and a curse.

It wasn’t like the stories other mothers told children in the village. There was no resourceful hero, no trickster outwitting the gods. It was a true story, about duty. A long line of children, a family granted life and legacy with a small golden pendant as a reminder of a god’s generosity.

And a reminder of what would be owed.

“You are right not to fear him. But there is no need to seek him out before your time.” Her hand went to that small, golden pendant. “He will know where to find you, and will wait for you to come to him.”

*

Atem lingered in the memory of that warm night, until the expanse of stars faded into the plain walls of a small room. Until it was just the two of them laying there as before.

Yugi’s head was swimming. He felt like he was emerging from a pool as shadows pulled out of his mind.

“Slipher is here for you?” he asked quietly.

“There was no one to bury me, and my bones turned to dust on the shore. There is nothing to return to the water. I will stay here for eternity.”

Yugi could taste the bitterness of Atem’s words on his tongue, but he could also feel the residual heat of the desert, the soft mud under his feet, warm water around his calves. A serene childhood spent on the banks of the Nile.

A time and place so far removed from this dark little island that Yugi could hardly wrap his head around it. He remembered something Joey had said, on that flight here that seemed so long ago too.

_Crawford Sound is pretty far out there…it’s a weird place to go._

He wanted to word his question carefully. Didn’t want to mess up this precious opportunity by saying the wrong thing and lose Atem to the shadows that pinned his soul to this place.

But Atem was in a mood to share. Joined in this lightly mingled consciousness in a gentle night. Who knew if he would have a chance like this again?

Yugi held on to that hand, encouraged it to lay flat against his chest, over his heart.

“Atem,” he said, like the name was an incantation that could keep the ghost here. “Can you tell me why you came here?”

Atem answered with his own question. Yugi’s mouth spoke, but he could feel Atem’s lips moving soundlessly against the back of his neck. “Will you leave if I tell you?”

 _No_ would get him nothing, and _yes_ would be a lie. So Yugi tried something new. Dipped his toe into a well of courage he'd never touched before. A gamble.

“Only if it frightens me.”

Yugi felt his lips pull into a thin, humourless smile, a mirror of the one on Atem’s face.

“Very well,” the ghost whispered. Atem’s arm tightened around him, and unlike drifting into a memory of a mother on a warm night, these were not gentle memories ahead. Wind filled the space in Yugi’s mind, rising to a howl like they were walking into a storm. “And if it hurts you, I will leave you.”

It sounded more like an apology than a threat, but Yugi felt a flash of panic. He would wind up alone if he couldn’t keep his nerve, or if he couldn’t weather whatever memories waited in the shadows of Atem’s mind.

As much as he wanted to convince himself that he could handle this, when darkness squeezed his heart Yugi couldn't help but doubt his odds.


	10. Chapter 10

The world was ending.

At least, everything in Atem’s world felt like it was.

Every day since his father had brought them to Cairo had been one ill omen after another. Death had settled over Egypt and darkened every door. Police were dragging anyone suspected of infection to the lazarettos. The quarantine board was burning bodies in the streets.

His mother should have been one of them.

“Don’t be afraid, my son. She will not be desecrated,” his father whispered. “We will honour her as she wished.” He carried her body in his arms like she was still his bride and not a corpse. And although he didn’t believe in her old gods, he would never deny her dying request: _It is my time. Take me to the water._

Atem had helped wash her body of the stench of disease and wrapped her in a white sheet, a stark contrast to her dark skin. When they carried her out of the palace there were hours of night to go, but the streets were lit with fires and the air with smoke and screams. They avoided them all, clinging to the shadows, the same as Atem clung to his father, who clung to his wife.

The ferryman almost refused them. His wide eyes fixed on the obviously dead woman until he saw who was carrying her. Recognizing the pale face of a son of the Wali, he accepted the offered coins with no further questions.

When his father lowered her limp body over the side of the boat, gentle and quiet, Atem leaned over too. Watched her sink down. Watched for any sign of a river god coming to carry her away into a better place.

But the night was dark, and the water deep. He saw nothing except the silhouette of his mother, cloth spreading around her like white smoke in the black water, and she carried away his childhood, and his childish beliefs.

*

They were saying this was the start of another war.

Atem wasn’t sure the last war had ended.

The news was heralded by a fleet of ships, newly anchored in Alexandria. Their masts were scattered through the harbour as proud testaments to the Egyptian triumph over the Ottomans in Nizip. Spoils of Uncle Ibrahim’s latest victory had arrived last night on the winds of change.

And how times were changing.

Atem scowled at the ticket in his hand. It was stamped _July 3 1839_ for passage on a boat that would take him further from the Nile than he’d ever been.

It wasn’t a ticket to freedom. It was an escape. His father had said _Wadi Halfa is unfit for a young prince_ , and Uncle Ibrahim had said _no one in Cairo can be trusted_ , and Monsieur de Lesseps said _he can come study in France, I will take good care of the boy_.

“Why doesn’t Abbas have to leave?” Atem muttered under his breath.

His father let out a dry laugh. “Why, would you like him to go with you?”

He certainly didn’t want his cousin anywhere near him, but this was unfair. That Abbas could lounge in the palace, fawning over his horses while Atem, not even sixteen, was held to inexplicably higher standards. Bound to the whims and wars of his family unlike any of his other cousins.

Still, Atem knew better than to let the distaste show on his face.

His father must have seen something of it all the same because he scolded, “See? Things could always be worse.” When Atem’s expression remained terse, he sighed and clapped a hand to his son’s shoulder. The squeeze was supposed to be reassuring, but it felt cold. “Monsieur de Lesseps will take care of you. Study hard. Don’t cause any trouble.” He finally spared a rare, teasing smile. “Such things would be too much to ask of your cousin so it is up to you to make a good impression.”

Atem didn’t find it funny. A childish part of him wanted to dig in his heels. To scream _I won’t go._ But he knew his father had gone through great pains to set this up. This dismissal was a gesture of love. He was being sent away to keep him from being trampled under soldiers’ feet. Keep him out of mind as gossip swirled around the Wali’s advanced age. Keep him out of sight from political speculation.

It was wrong to resent this blessing. So he bit down on his tongue, kept his protests inside, and dutifully said his goodbyes.

Leaving Egypt should have felt like an adventure, but he felt helpless. Could only reassure himself with a memory of comforting words from his mother.

_Your heart is Egyptian and the Nile flows in your veins._

*

The gregarious Ferdinand Vicomte de Lesseps was a generous patron. He treated Atem as well as any of his sons, and tried to walk the fine line between _benefactor_ and _father-figure_. Called in favours from members of the _Académie des sciences_ , so Atem could study science and economics and humanities. Hired tutors for English and French and Russian.

And then, more challenging than any exam, Atem was put through the relentless gamut of dinners and dances and parties that filled the Vicomte’s social calendar.

 _You must have a thick skin and a cutting wit!_ Lesseps would insist, as he’d push Atem into a sea of strangers. Rooms full of pompous nobility with sweet perfume and elegant fashion draped over veiled insults and banal curiosity and biting sarcasm.

It was exhausting, but it was better than what was happening back home, so he endured.

He thought when news came that the war had ended he would be called back home. But his father’s letters remained curt and sporadic.

When another year passed, and they said France was no longer a friend to Egypt, he thought maybe _then_ it would be time to leave.

Instead Lesseps ignored the politics, the same as Atem was increasingly ignored by his father, and he stayed where he was. Smiled politely and studied hard and sipped French wine at crowded parties.

When an October came around with an unusually sparse social calendar, Atem was quietly thrilled.

Thrilled until Lesseps burst into the study on Thursday afternoon.

“My boy! Do you have plans for the coming weekend?”

It was an innocent-sounding question, but Lesseps had been bored without his usual abundance of parties. Had spent a week about ready to tear down the walls and build them back up just for something to do, and Atem had been here long enough to have an idea of where this was going.

“Are you planning to head out of town?” Atem posed a question back. He continued to thumb through the book in his hand, and hoped whatever eleventh-hour social invitation Lesseps had uncovered was not something nearby.

Lesseps looked briefly caught off guard, then delighted by Atem’s acumen. “Well, as a matter of fact… I’m heading to Rouen. Do you remember Flaubert? He’s finished his first novella and his publisher is hosting a celebratory dinner. I’m sure he would be happy to see you again.”

Atem did remember that dour-faced man. And Lesseps must be desperate for entertainment if he thought dining with the human embodiment of _misery_ would be an amusing way to spend a weekend. “My studies have been demanding lately, I should stay here.”

Lesseps scoffed. “I know for a fact you are excelling in all your subjects. You should take a break. Make some friends.” Atem met his gaze easily and said nothing beyond a raised eyebrow. There was a brief staring contest until Lesseps threw up his arms. “Ugh, you’re right. It’s going to be miserable. At least come help me bully the English bastards his publisher invited. Consider it part of your education.”

“Tempting,” Atem responded dryly, trying to bite back a grin. For all Lesseps insisted he would never go into politics, the Vicomte took a perverse delight in inserting himself into anything that might irritate a noble from the other side of the Channel. “But you will have to give them my sincere regrets. I will be far too busy here.” He leisurely flipped a page and didn’t look up as his patron collapsed dramatically onto a chair beside him.

“You wound me with these lies. Why won’t you come? Have you found someone here to charm?”

It was Atem’s turn to scoff. “I don’t have time for such things.”

“A dalliance with that lady mooning over you at the Duchess’ engagement party?”

“You called her an English whore,” Atem said flatly. “And no.”

“Perhaps a French whore? You know I would respect that.”

“ _No_.”

“ _Un compagnon_ —"

Atem was finally scandalized. “ _Stop_.”

He was bristling, and Lesseps quickly backed off. “Forgive me.” He sat back in his chair to give Atem a little space. “You know I would never question your impeccable morals.” And like almost everything the man said, it walked a thin line between sincere and teasing.

Atem was blushing furiously, staring blankly at the page before him. While such things might be fine to joke about here in Paris… It wasn’t a joke. Not for him. He already hated how so often conversations would turn to women. The letters from his father that suggested _wives_ just often enough to remind Atem that he wasn’t actually forgotten, that he had none of the bohemian freedoms others might pursue.

There was a frostiness in the air but Lesseps was not one to let a silence drag on. He rocked forward, launching himself back onto his feet. “Well, whoever it is, I’ll have you know I’m _furious_ that they will have the pleasure of your company while I am forced to endure a room full of misanthropes. I can’t believe anyone convinced Flaubert to have a gathering in the first place.”

Atem forced himself to close the book and look up. Knew to accept this kindly offered change in conversation. “Forgive me, I—”

“Nothing to forgive, my boy! I overstepped. You are right to sit this one out. It will be unimaginable torture.” He coughed a little awkwardly at Atem’s pained look. “His book is titled November, probably because it’s the most depressing month he could think of. Would you like me to pick you up a copy?”

Atem hummed an agreement, still unable to meet his eyes. “That would be very kind. Please give him my regards.”

He missed the torn look on Lesseps’ face, how he swallowed his words before excusing himself from the room with a deceptively bright “I must get packing! I hope you won’t be too lonely here!”

There was nothing worth saying in return. Solitude was perhaps the best way to carve out space for himself in a life already filled with others expectations.

*

Those expectations came to call on a late May day in 1846. Not in a letter, but with the unexpected arrival of his Uncle Ibrahim.

Atem only distantly remembered him. An infrequent yet imposing presence in the background of Atem’s brief adolescence in Cairo. A general renowned for his bloody wars in the Wali’s name, and more recently for all but running the country in the Wali’s stead. It seemed the ongoing turbulence in Egypt had taken a heavy toll. The man that entered through the gates of Lesseps’ estate was formidable, but his beard had turned all white, and his eyes were world-weary.

Lesseps said nothing against the unannounced visit. He beamed as he welcomed Ibrahim and his small entourage into his home, while Atem schooled his face into something polite and calm.

This was the first he’d seen of his family since he’d been sent here, and his uncle of all people wouldn’t have dropped everything to come by for a social visit.

“My friend, it has been too long. What a pleasure to have you here,” Lesseps said warmly, but Ibrahim was focused on his nephew.

“Peace be upon you,” he said in Arabic, addressing only Atem.

The familiar greeting was said with a deep kindness, but instead of relaxing they put him even more on edge. “And upon you be peace, as well as the mercy of God and his blessings,” Atem replied respectfully in kind. He bowed his head as his uncle stepped forward to place a kiss on the crown of his head.

Ibrahim held his shoulders, looking at him appraisingly for a long minute. Atem resisted the urge to look away. Wished he wasn’t wearing this tailored suit, or wearing that French cologne. Suddenly wanted to strip himself of everything personal, leave nothing of himself to be judged in case it did not stand up to this scrutiny.

But perhaps Atem wasn’t a disappointment, because Ibrahim released him without comment and turned to their host, speaking with lightly accented French.

“I apologise for coming on short notice. Has this one been keeping out of trouble?” Ibrahim’s tone was stern, but Lesseps answered breezily.

“Yes, well, you always were one for surprise attacks,” he laughed. “Your nephew has been nothing but a delight. I daresay he’s charmed everyone from here to Petersburg. We can only hope that the Wali’s successor will be half as accomplished as this young man.”

Atem disregarded the praise and studied his Uncle’s face. Lesseps was an extravagant man, but not a fool. Had taught Atem that language was a cunning weapon, to use it to whittle out secrets and carve out power. And right now, the frenchman’s voice was like Normandy butter, spread by words that cut like a butcher’s knife. 

Ibrahim’s unannounced visit _did_ feel like a surprise attack. Atem could only feel deeply suspicious, and Lesseps was curious too, delicately trying to tease out the truth.

But his uncle was in no hurry to give anything away. Simply bowed his head and uttered _inshallah_ before he gestured to a young man hovering in the door. “Allow me to introduce my brother, Sa’id.”

“It is truly auspicious to have not one but two relatives bless me with their presence,” Atem replied slowly.

Atem knew the name, but couldn’t be sure they had ever crossed paths. Unlike Ibrahim who was aged and weathered, Sa’id was pale and soft. He may have been Atem’s uncle, but he couldn’t have been much older than Atem himself. And he looked to be painfully shy, judging by the way he stared at the rug like he was waiting for the floor to swallow him up.

While Atem coolly sized him up, Lesseps eagerly reached out to shake his hand. “Ferdinand, Vicomte de Lesseps. It’s a pleasure and an honour to meet a distinguished brother of the general.”

Sa’id looked stricken, unable to even mumble a polite response.

Atem suspected he’d never set foot outside of the palace in Cairo. Had never been expected to speak a word of anything but Arabic before being dragged over three thousand miles to this villa in Paris. And although Atem was sympathetic, it only fed his distrust.

They circled through protocol and pleasantries until Lesseps waved his hands with a flourish, directing them to sit in the drawing room.

Lesseps lounged in his seat, deceptively relaxed, while Atem and his uncles sat with stiff backs. Their host was handed an assortment of gifts that, to Atem, smelled and tasted of home. A tray of baklava, a box of thin cigars and a pound of Turkish coffee that Lesseps wasted no time in sending a butler to prepare.

“You should visit more often,” Lesseps sighed around a mouthful of sweet pastry. “Or you should invite me back to Egypt. See if I can’t convince the Wali to let me build that canal. Tell him he could pay me in sweets and coffee. A far better price than the brits are asking for.”

Ibrahim didn’t laugh, he rarely did, and while the Frenchman sank indulgently into his overstuffed chair, the general looked ready to enter a battlefield. “Unfortunately I am here to bring someone else back to Cairo.” He looked meaningfully at Atem.

“I would be glad to see home again,” Atem acknowledged. “I haven’t seen my father in years.”

And the tiredness in Ibrahim’s eyes turned to sadness. “I regret that it is unfortunately too late for happy reunions.”

The words sank Atem’s heart like a stone. “I see,” he managed around a lead tongue. This must be the purpose of this visit. To break the news of his father’s death and summon him home to take over his responsibilities.

His uncle continued after a solemn minute, addressing Lesseps. “But it is my hope that we might continue our arrangement in another fashion.”

“I am always a happy patron of the Wali’s wayward princes,” Lesseps said with a hint of a smile at Atem. “Is this why you brought your little brother to my doorstep?”

Ibrahim nodded. “You’ve been good to us. So diligent in Atem’s education. It is perhaps too much to ask, but I think that my brother would benefit from a similar experience. He is…” They were all staring at Sa’id and the young man looked infinitely stressed by the conversation he could barely follow. “…unpolished.”

Lesseps let out a snort, but he pushed a bowl of candies towards Sa’id like a peace offering. “Is one polished gem not enough for the Wali? How many heirs does he need?”

The words ran through Atem like a knife. Left him dizzy with the brazen implication. The purpose of his uncle’s visit snapped into sharp focus and he could suddenly see the path he’d been blindly walking.

Atem hadn’t been sent to France just to be kept out of the way. This was all part of a careful cultivation. His father’s marriage to a Nubian woman to produce a son who could unify the north and the south of the Nile. A modern prince educated in the west, fluent in the languages of European nobility. And with the Wali’s hard-won hereditary reign over Egypt, Atem was not just one of many sons and grandsons but _the_ one.

“It’s not about heirs, it’s about allies,” Ibrahim grumbled.

Atem looked over at Sa’id, with his round face and nervous eyes, and his insides curdled. His uncle clearly knew better than most that Atem would return to Cairo after years away with no immediate family, no friends. Certainly plenty of enemies; ones who looked down Atem for being a backwater prince, or a European pawn. A whole host of people with their own ideas of what direction the future of Egypt should take if Atem could not be decisive and persuasive.

So Ibrahim was here hoping to cultivate in Sa’id at least one ally for an unlikely successor.

Lesseps spoke up as Atem was strangled by the enormity of just what was expected of him.

“Allies indeed,” he drawled. “Tell me, how is that wart Abbas doing?”

Instead of being insulted, Ibrahim solemnly said, “His arrogance is a weed that grows on a dunghill.”

And the name of his older cousin was another sinking weight within him. He had spent long enough of his childhood skirting around Abbas, who sulked through the halls of the palace, beating dogs and servants alike for crossing his path. And his patron’s pointed question was not just out of curiosity, but another subtle inquiry. Abbas, as the next best option to Atem.

A sickening thought.

Lesseps offered back a wry smile. “I never know if I should believe half the stories, but hearing that, I cannot blame you for wanting to deprive me of your good nephew’s company. I hope he will brighten your halls as he has mine.”

Ibrahim was looking at Atem, appraising once again. “Yes, we have high hopes for him.”

Atem’s face must have looked obviously stunned, because his uncle continued a little more kindly: “Do not be afraid. Your grandfather is ill, but he has named me his heir. You will have more than enough time to settle back into the way of things. I will ensure you are prepared for your duties ahead.”

“The vicomte has been a gracious host and a generous patron these past years,” Atem replied steadily, around the cloud of panic in his head, tamping down the fears swelling inside him. “I will be sad to leave, but I will humbly return to serve as my grandfather wishes.”

He did not want this, but when was life ever a question of what he wanted? All there was to do was strive to rise to the occasion. Hope that he was up to the monumental task laid before him, and that he would not disappoint.

Less than a week later his things were packed, and he left behind all the follies of France.

*

Atem descended on the palace of Al-Gawhara with as much welcome as a plague.

No one was quite sure what to make of this half-forgotten prince, but they knew the General favoured him, and his sudden existence among them was a threat to the order of things.

He’d had the luxury of relative anonymity in France, but he’d been plucked from obscurity and dropped into a viper’s pit. And while Ibrahim was sent to handle another diplomatic crisis, Atem was left to fend for himself. Alone among twenty-some uncles and an army of cousins, half of them wishing he was dead, and the other half ready to take advantage of any weakness. Everywhere he went their stares felt like daggers in his back, and their whispers sounded like curses.

Atem wasted no time in swapping his suits for robes. He draped himself in linen and silk and jewellery like armour. Used calm and measured words like weapons. Conducted himself with cool dignity to elevate himself above the rabid drama that hounded him like a pack of wild dogs.

He found himself hardly able to sleep. Could practically feel the wet paint of a target painted on his back. A convenient scapegoat for the simmering frustrations of an entire young dynasty.

He had been far removed from this place and these people for many years. How could he hope to convince anyone, much less himself, that he deserved to be here? It was either succeed, or die with a knife in his back.

Atem started wearing his mother’s old golden talisman around his neck, and reminded himself that he was Egyptian, and the Nile flowed in his veins.

*

His footsteps fell silently as he exited the opulent gates of Al-Gawhara. He had to be discrete, and back in the palace before the adhaan at dawn so that no one would miss him. There were appearances he had to uphold, and he couldn’t afford any missteps.

It made this venture feel all the more important. Filled him with a spark of hope and rebellion and nostalgia. His days were spent in service to others, his uncle had no shortage of duties to assign him, but right now he was doing one secret thing for himself.

Atem pulled his hood lower to better hide his face and hair, held a basket close to his chest with his other hand, and walked quickly.

Unlike the last time he had followed this path to the docks, many years ago, the streets were empty; unlit and silent.

But only on the ferry did he breathe a sigh of relief. As the boat moved into the current, Atem dipped a hand in the Nile _._ It was a clear night, and the stars were a riot of light in the moonless sky, reflected over the river, and for the first time in a long time, his heart sang. He felt awake and acute and alive.

The ferryman dropped him off on the small island of Maadi. A people-less place, dense and lush with growth. Atem paid the old man to wait before hurrying along the bank to the far side of the island, away from even that one person’s watchful eyes.

He had long ago told himself he had outgrown his mother’s stories, that he didn’t believe in _anyone’s_ gods. Still, he remembered how his father had always indulged her, let her take Atem to the river instead of answering the muezzin. And while it had been years since he’d given much thought to his mother’s old river god, in these friendless days adversity could make a believer just as easily as break one.

The weight of her pendant around his neck was one of very few comforts. It couldn’t hurt to honour his mother, make a small tribute in secret.

Once he was sure that no one was around, he kicked off his shoes and dropped most of his robes onto the shore.

In this hushed hour, with the wet earth and flattened reeds squishing between his toes, and a warm breeze on his skin, Atem felt like he was something timeless. Felt an unexpected connection to this moment.

For a single blissful moment, instead of a prince, he was simply himself, having a wordless conversation with the universe.

He waded in, floating the basket of fruit and meat ahead of him. The water a soft caress against his feet then calves then thighs, going as deep as he could in the current without losing his footing. And he whispered a prayer to an ancient river spirit. Thanked it for blessing his ancestors with life, for taking them peacefully. For its eternal reminder to be grateful and humble.

When the last word left his lips, he let his small offering be taken from him. Watched it drift away from his outstretched hands.

And he felt serene standing there between the stars and the water. His life might belong to an empire, but this moment belonged to him alone.

Until something else moved through the river before him.

Something enormous twisted through the current, red scales glinting in the starlight. It sent a wave of water rolling into him, cold and shocking, like he had been struck by lightning, every hair on his arms and neck standing.

He knew without a doubt who it was. It took everything he had to stay standing, to keep his awed terror silent in the wake of this creature.

The water stilled after a moment, and the basket was gone with the serpent, but the small gold pendant around his neck was hot against his skin.

*

Uncle Ibrahim became Wali the same day the khamaseen began. The first bout of hot winds, heavy with sand, whipped through the city. Even with all the windows tightly shut, a haze hung within the halls of the palace. A layer of dust covered every surface. It settled uncomfortably on tongues and eyes and ears.

With his passing, Ibrahim was no longer just the regent, but the new Wali of Egypt, and he wasted no time in officially naming Atem as governor and heir apparent. A young Pasha and crown prince to help carry Egypt’s new dynasty into a modern world.

And overnight the looks and whispers that followed Atem turned from daggers and curses to carrots on strings and words of honey. He went from detested to inundated with favours and bribes.

Rather than flattered, Atem felt even more isolated than before, like a stark emptiness had eaten up his heart. He passed even more sleepless nights staring out his window at the Nile, and he didn’t know what he was silently praying for.

Strength? Conviction? Courage? Protection?

He only knew that, for all his worries, like his grandfather and his uncle, he would do his best to serve all the people of Egypt. Protect the clean, dark water of the Nile that they depended on. Navigate a path for his country through all the enemies that circled like vultures.

Others were not so convinced of Atem’s suitability.

“You’ve made a terrible decision. He spent so long away, he’s hardly one of us,” Abbas growled across the table to Ibrahim. “He doesn’t know what Egypt needs. He’s been corrupted by French ideologies when we should be holding on to our roots now more than ever.”

Atem was sitting at the low table too, keffiyeh wrapped over his mouth and nose against the dust that drifted even in this room,. His cousin and Uncle were wearing the same, and just as well, to hide their irritable expressions from each other.

Any other day Atem might have been amused by his cousin’s refreshingly tactless disrespect. Except this morning he’d heard about a stable boy, and Abbas’ cruel punishment for an honest mistake. The boy would never walk again, and Abbas was here, lounging comfortably on a pillow, and the injustice of it burned at the back of Atem’s throat worse than a mouthful of sand.

But he bit back angry words. He wasn’t the Wali yet, and in any case outbursts would only undermine him. “The French have been a good friend to us,” he countered. “The British have only ever shown support for the Sultan.”

“However,” Ibrahim cut in, raising a hand to stop Abbas from interjecting with another insult. “It is worthwhile to nurture opportunities where possible.” He gave a level look to Atem, though he sounded like the words were a little sour. “I do not think we should waste the one your cousin has found.”

Atem couldn’t help but raise an eye at that. Abbas, who was better at offending than befriending. How would he, who threw fits at the idea of mutual respect, bring _any_ worthwhile name to the table.

“Like I said, I’ve been corresponding with the Earl of Crawford,” Abbas said proudly. “He is purchasing some of my best horses—”

Ibrahim silenced him with a hand once again. “The Earl has kindly invited me to his country estate. I cannot be away from here for so long. I would ask that you go in my place, while your cousin ensures that the livestock is tended to.”

Atem would do as his uncle asked, but when Abbas didn’t even sputter at the insult to his precious horses, a distrustful weight settled in his chest. “Is it really worthwhile?”

“It is a good time for you to start building bridges, before you are stuck here like I am,” his uncle said dryly, though there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. “Better to meet people and decide for yourself who you can trust. Do not let others make those decisions for you.”

Atem wasn’t sure if the skepticism he felt was left over from years of listening to Lesseps’ staunch refusal to cooperate with the English (“ _on principle!”_ he would always insist), or if it was because he trusted Abbas about as far as he could throw him. While it would be easy to assume that any friend of Abbas’ could not be trusted, his uncle’s advice seemed fair and reasonable. English aristocrats offering a hand in, if not friendship, at least civility, were few and far between.

Returning it was the least they would be expected to do, and it was an honour that his uncle trusted him to do this. Meeting with this Earl was a strategic thing to do. An appropriate endeavour for the future leader of Egypt. A goodwill visit to signify a change in the turbulent relationship between the countries. A better, more peaceful future.

So he accepted reluctantly.

*

The Earl generously commissioned the trip in full; a skilled crew on a fine English clipper. She was an elegant boat with twenty-eight cream-coloured sails, and Atem had never been on one quite like it before. He was the only guest among the crew of forty men, sticking out like a sore thumb among them, but he was put up in the most spacious cabin, and left to wander the decks undisturbed as long as he kept out of the way.

The hold was laden with supplies. Some for the journey, but mostly a wealth of items for the lord who would be waiting at their destination.

Atem was shocked to learn just where that was. Instead of a jaunt to the English countryside, after which he might make a stopover in France to visit Lesseps, they would be making an Atlantic crossing. A trip far longer and further away than he expected. Months instead of weeks. But it was too late to politely decline without offending anyone, so he held his misgivings quietly close to his heart.

Those became harder to ignore when, after a few days at sea, he overheard the mutterings of the disgruntled crew.

The Earl was paying them well, so no one was willing to complain too loudly, but even the captain was irritable about setting sail on a Friday, an unlucky day. And no matter how fair the weather was, everyone kept looking nervously to the sky, waiting for the August gales to arrive.

But while the crew watched the sails and the skies, Atem was leaning over the taffrail, watching the waves roll through the water behind them. The port of Alexandria had long since faded from view, and as they sailed further, the unease he felt settled deep in his bones.

Until an unexpected sight calmed his nerves.

There was a ripple of red scales below the surface. Something huge curling in the wake of the ship.

It made his heart jump with a mix of awe and relief. Made him touch the pendant hidden close to his heart.

The Nile flowed in his veins, and home was never far away.

*

It should have taken less than a month to cross.

Those best intentions were quickly forgotten. There was a week of waiting in Gibraltar for the right winds, then another becalmed in the middle of the Atlantic, only to be thrown days off course by a storm.

Despite the occasional glimpses of a red sea serpent, unnoticed by the crew, all the extra time only compounded Atem’s fear that leaving on this journey was unwise. His imagination was left to wonder about what kind of place Crawford Sound was, what kind of man the Earl must be, and what his Uncle’s reaction might be if he disappointed him.

Forty-seven days after departing Alexandria, the break of dawn brought the captain’s call. Crawford Sound was in sight, and Atem was the first to rush to the bow, eager to see what awaited.

It had to be a joke.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the tiny little village wasn’t it. Hardly more than a smattering of simple buildings pressed into an otherwise bleak, unbroken coastline. Houses built squat and sturdy against the winds and ocean spray. It made his childhood home of Wadi Halfa look like a metropolis.

But it wasn’t a joke, and the more he took in the sight of this place, the more he dreaded it.

He couldn’t help but stare at rocks that jutted out of the water between the island and the shore, stained a deep red. It was surreal, and unlike anything he had ever seen, and some distant part of him was screaming _leave._

Where else was there to go?

The ship was anchored in the lee of a barren island, and he piled along with everyone else into the tender boats to row towards shore.

They made a careful path around the rocks in the strait; some towered overhead, others hidden just below the waves, all of them a vibrant, earthy red.

Atem found himself thinking of Slipher. How easily the spirit would be able to hide in the water below them. He leaned over the edge of the boat and thought he saw something flash beneath. Reached out to touch his hand to the water—

He gasped like he’d been bitten. The water was like _ice_.

The handful of men behind him laughed, good-natured for the first time in weeks now that land was in sight. “Careful, your highness. You wouldn’t want to fall in.”

Atem quickly straightened, pulled his hand under the folds of his cloak to warm it. And though the chill had pierced right through to his core, he likewise warmed himself with the idea that he wasn’t the only one out of his depth. His mother’s red river god had followed him to this gray, cold place. Two kindred spirits far from the warm waters of the Nile.

The thought that he wasn’t alone gave him strength and courage.

As their boats drew closer to shore, they passed other boats. Men scattered through the Sound in small fishing boats shouted cheerful greetings to them, and along the shore there were dozens of children and women abandoning chores to crowd along the wharf. The arrival of the ship was clearly a welcome sight, and they smiled and waved brightly, until their eyes landed on Atem’s figure sitting high up in the bow.

He couldn’t help but tense, just as caught off guard by the sight of these people. They were all dressed plainly, white faces in modestly dyed wool. He could feel their collective gaze taking in his bronze skin and mahogany eyes and thick hair. Could almost hear their whispers.

Atem pulled his cloak around himself to hide the brightly coloured linen and embroidered silk of his robes, the gold that hung from his neck and arms and hands. He had expected to set down in a hive of haughty English nobles, but the only ones waiting here were people of the earth and sea.

Was the Earl of Crawford one of them? It set off a flash of panic in him. That he might accidentally insult every single person here with his out-of-touch opulence before he had even set foot on shore. That this whole journey was as pointless as he’d feared. That this was a stupid, cruel joke by his stupid, cruel cousin.

But from the crowd, one voice carried over the water clearly: “At last!” someone exclaimed, and people parted for what was obviously the Earl this place was named after. He was a spike of colour in the crowd, tall and slender, wearing a vibrant red overcoat and white silk cravat, striking silver hair cropped short in the fashionable way. He looked out of place among the villagers but he stood shoulder to shoulder among them, unbothered, focused only on the approaching convoy of boats from his ship.

“Welcome ashore, your excellency. My name is Maximillian, Earl of Crawford. Thank you for coming all this way. You must be exhausted from the journey.”

His words were smooth and effortless, but there was something distant in his eyes. Something hollow in his smile.

The freezing water had offered a more sincere welcome than this, Atem thought, but he nodded politely, accepted the Earl’s outstretched hand, and stepped out of the boat and onto the wharf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering about the extent to which I shamelessly abused real historical events/places/figures for a yugioh fic... the answer is [A Lot](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1EcGTZqWqgMdEY7SYIqFMIFad6nBdp0LUpSObomKECOM/edit?usp=sharing).


	11. Chapter 11

_“A ship carrying more than 40 crew members has disappeared off the coast after capsizing in hurricane-lashed seas. It was reported that a Pasha from the Ottoman empire on a visit to the Earl of Crawford was among those aboard. The Permanent Under Secretary of the Colonial Office has called for a lighthouse to be installed at the site of the accident.”_ ~ The Harbour Times, October 3rd, 1848.

*

In his memories Atem was walking up to the Earl’s manor, but somewhere else he was wrapped around Yugi’s body begging _leave leave leave_. And Yugi was caught somewhere between the two.

“It’s okay, Atem, I’m here,” Yugi said, from a small bed in a little house on a rocky island. _Here_ and _now_ , he meant.

But it was all wrong, because Atem was _then_ and _there_ , walking beside the Earl. Yugi could hear them talking, the Earl saying _I hope you will not find it too dull_ and Atem saying _I’m sure the week will pass all too quickly—_

A week.

An eternity.

 _I want to leave_ , Yugi could also hear, close by, but it was impossible to tell if it was a sob beside his ear or a shout on his lips or a lament in his heart. A faint thread of Atem tethered here, and Yugi wanted to pull him free of the fog that filled the space between the present and the past.

But the tide was relentless. An inescapable gravity, sweeping them along towards something inevitable.

All Yugi could do was try to hold fast. A grounding pillar and a beacon for the lost.

And Atem was lost, lost, lost.

*

The Earl’s residence was built out of stern Victorian brick; three extravagant stories that towered over all the other buildings in the bay. Two young spruce trees stood like sentries on either side of the path that led to the door.

And as Atem tilted his head up to take it in, a movement caught his eye – a ruffle of white in a round window just below the peaked roof. But when he looked properly there was no one there.

It wasn’t his imagination. Maximillian had noticed it too, gray eyes lingering on the empty window for a moment before ushering Atem the rest of the way to the door. Whoever it was up there was distracting enough that the Earl dropped any pretense of hospitality.

“Ronald will see to you,” he said, gesturing to an elderly gentleman waiting just inside.

And like that, the Early unceremoniously excused himself, vanishing up the stairs without a single backward look.

It was a very long way to come to be handed off so abruptly, but Atem bit down on his annoyance and followed a smiling ‘just call me Ron’ down a wide hallway.

A captain-turned-Esquire, Ron, despite his age, would still have fit in well with the ship’s crew if he hadn’t been wearing an understated jacket and vest. Broad shoulders and calloused hands, and his voice lacked the clipped tones of English nobility. Unlike the surly crew Atem had arrived with, however, he chattered amiably as he led Atem through the house.

“It’s not an easy voyage!” he said cheerily, as though compensating for the Earl’s cool departure. “Before settling here as the esquire for the Earl, I was the captain for that fine vessel you came here on. These waters are probably much colder and fiercer than what you’re used to where you’re from!”

He didn’t seem to expect Atem to speak up, and didn’t give many chances. He commented on the weather and the craftsmanship of ships and how good it was to host the Pasha in this humble home. How few visitors they received in this blustery, remote place.

Atem leapt at the first opportunity to steer the conversation. “May I ask,” he interrupted, carefully tactful. “Why the Earl has an estate here? It’s certainly a unique location.”

Ron blinked at him, once. Then smiled even wider, pleasantly surprised by Atem’s refined accent.

“I wouldn’t presume to speak on the Earl’s behalf,” Ron said, but he lowered his voice and continued anyway. “The missus isn’t well, you see. It’s been hard on the poor lad. But getting away from the London smog was probably just a good excuse to get away from his family. They could hardly forgive him for marrying for love, and then for the girl to take ill like this?” He shook his head. “I hope you can forgive him if he seems not quite himself. He means no offense.”

“Of course,” Atem assured him, and before he could ask anything else, his guide opened a door to the guest room.

“Oh good, your things are already here,” Ron said brightly. A housekeeper had been through the room as well; there was a basin filled with water, still steaming, with a clean white cloth hanging over the edge. A fire in the hearth bathed the room in dry warmth, banishing the draft from a wide window that faced an enticing view of the red rocks of the Sound. “I will leave you to settle in, but if you need anything, you can find me or the housekeeper just down the hall. Dinner will be at seven.”

A thank you had barely left his lips before the door was shut, and he found himself totally alone. It was unexpected, followed no sense of protocol. But a few minutes of his own company was probably better than the days of idle chatter and conversational sparring that waited ahead.

Except he wasn’t alone.

 _It’s okay, Atem, I’m here,_ he heard, not for the first time since setting foot on shore.

When he turned around there was no one.

He didn’t know where it came from, or who it was, but he wanted to go to it. Like it might soothe the inexplicable seed of panic in his heart.

He shook his head of the thought and rested his hands on the window still. Tried to ignore the urge to _leave leave leave_ as he looked out at the ship anchored across the Sound. The island behind it that, like that faint voice, was familiar but not.

And as he stared, the bright morning light faded from view. A fog, dense and dark, rolled over the cliffs to settle over the water. Heavy as the ominous weight in his heart.

Never before had he seen such an eerie stillness blanket the world.

He wiped his fingers through the condensation his breath left on the window, but it did nothing to clear the gray outside.

A week to endure here. When he thought of how his uncle had wanted him to _build bridges_ he couldn’t help but think he would just as soon abandon this place and swim back to Egypt. For a moment he imagined crawling onto Slipher’s back, and being carried home to the Nile.

A silly daydream. He looked away from the water, tried to calm himself.

But the walls were hung with oil paintings of horses that made him think of Abbas. And when he left the room the halls were full of grim portraits whose eyes watched him from wherever he stood.

Somewhere in the house, he could hear the solemn tick of a grandfather clock counting the long hours to his departure.

*

The Earl only reappeared at dinner, tense shoulders and terse expression, and a butler placed a generous glass of whiskey in his hand before he so much as asked.

Atem was offered a French wine, and he wanted to take it as a thoughtful gesture, but Abbas only knew how to insult the French, and Atem wasn’t sure what views exactly the Earl might share with his cousin.

They were seated at a long table, spread with a white tablecloth and topped with red candles in polished silver holders and an extravagant spread of food. Atem was across from Maximillian, who would not meet his eyes, and Ron was further down, silent in the presence of the Earl.

A fourth place was set before a vacant seat to Maximillian’s left.

“Is someone else joining us?” Atem asked when the Earl made no effort at conversation.

The words hardly wanted to leave his own throat, his mouth was filled by the same nameless black weight that sat in his head and heart.

“You will have to excuse my wife. Cyndia is not feeling well, but she will join us if she’s able,” was the sullen reply.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s better soon.”

The Earl grimaced. “Cyndia needed to get away from London. All the physicians said fresh air would do her good. That it was just a bit of hysteria.” He gestured for the butler to top up his drink. “And I read about this place. They said the water had healing properties.” He drained it in one. “But it’s not true.” His face and voice were grieving.

Atem felt woefully unprepared for this conversation. Hadn’t meant to so easily provoke such a painful topic. But if the Earl’s wife was sick, Atem could understand the need to _get away_. There was precious little dignity in sickness, and the more prominent you were, the more scrutiny there was. More people looking for weaknesses to exploit.

“Sometimes it’s good enough to get away from all the politics back home.”

This made the Earl look at him sharply. There was silence for a beat, before Maximillian hummed in some kind of agreement, and accepted the change in topic. “Abbas and I exchanged many letters, you know. I confess it was mostly about his fine horses at the start, but he has told me much about you. He insisted that I take exceptional care of you.”

They were perhaps the _least_ comforting words Atem had ever heard. The room seemed to spin, and a storm battered at the walls of the building.

“Your hospitality is greatly appreciated. I only hope the weather is better tomorrow,” he managed.

Both the Earl and Ron looked at him curiously.

“This is the fairest weather we’ve had all summer.”

“I suppose it’s a little cooler than what you’re used to.”

Atem could barely unclench his teeth, and wondered if the storm and the fog were all in his head. “I see.” The words were all he could force out, and the rest of the dinner passed with hardly any more conversation.

The Earl’s wife didn’t come down to join them.

The only sign of Cyndia came in the middle of the night, when a woman’s wailing pierced through the walls of the manor.

And Atem lay in bed, shivering under the blankets, trying to listen instead to that _other_ voice, calling out to him like a distant star.

_Atem Atem Atem._

*

His mind felt just as fogged as the water. It was hard to focus on the words being spoken.

“Small town, people talk,” Ron was saying. “And they have certainly been talking about you. I hope it’s not too much to ask you to make some rounds. It will mean a lot.”

Atem fixed a smile on his face and let himself be led along a haphazard path through the village. The sky was dark, the sun hardly able to pierce through the clouds, and Atem was wearing his heavy cloak, unable to shake the chill that seemed to spread from his very heart. He’d never been so cold in his life.

But the women they passed were wearing thin sleeveless dresses. Children were running barefoot in the grass. Atem felt goosebumps just looking at them.

“Do you think the fog will lift soon?”

His escort paused, seemingly at a loss. “Fog? Why, you couldn’t ask for a clearer day than this!”

Atem tried to keep his smile from twisting into something pained, as suddenly all he could hear was the rush of the ocean.

It was only so loud in his ears because they were close to the wharf. Of course.

The men standing on the wharf let him join their conversation with all the warmth of country folk. They were mending nets, twisting twine into rope with their rough hands, voices low.

And as Atem realised what they were talking about, he wished he hadn’t come at all.

“There’s something the Sound.”

“I saw it too. Went right under my boat. It’s huge, longer than the Earl’s ship!”

They glanced furtively at Atem, as though having come on that same ship he might have seen it too.

They weren’t wrong. “What… did you see?” he asked even though he had a good idea already.

“A serpent—”

“Scales red as the rocks!”

“All the fish have gone.”

And Atem was suddenly _sweating_ under his cloak. Tried to commiserate as these men frowned along with the conversation but all he could think was _I have to get away from here._

*

That night he tried to sleep, still _so cold_ , curled in around himself, hands fisted around his mother’s pendant, eyes screwed shut to block out anything between him and that _voice_.

“Where are you,” he whispered into the room.

_I’m here, I’ve got you._

But he was alone, and he felt sick with dread for something he couldn’t imagine. He wanted to reach out and hold on. Wished this stranger could carry him away from here to whatever distant universe it came from.

“I can’t see you,” he told it.

If he held his breath it felt like his soul was suspended somewhere between here and where he wanted to be. He thought maybe he was imagining it all. A pair of arms winding around him. A voice impossibly soft. A breath against his cheek saying _come back Atem_ —

“Please I want to leave—” he mouthed into the pillow.

This was just a dream. He was alone in this bed. There was no secret saviour calling to him.

But the quiet footsteps in the hall were real. Someone stopped outside his room.

A person on the other side of the door. Atem abandoned his fantasy, forced himself to sit up and quietly slip out from under the blankets. He struck a match, lit the wick in an oil lamp, and crossed the room.

The house was still and silent and there was only darkness on the other side of the door.

*

It was three days before he finally met her.

The fog that only Atem could see had not moved from its place over the Sound, and Atem was trying to ignore it by sitting in the drawing room. He was in the chair closest to the fire with a cup of smoky lapsang tea in one hand, and one of the Earl’s books in the other. The Earl’s shelves were full of an eclectic mix of medicine and magic and religion, and Atem had selected one without looking.

His normally clear thoughts were roiling, and the pages made no sense. Every word seemed to spell _leave_ and his ears only wanted to hear someone calling his name—

A soft _oh?_ from the doorway caught him off guard.

He looked up to see a woman standing there. She might have been beautiful, with her blonde hair and youth, but she lacked any vibrancy. She was painfully thin and her milk-white skin was ashen, and she leaned heavily against the doorframe, eyes wide in confusion.

“…Who are you?” she asked, barely audible.

Atem was stumped for a moment. Nowhere was he ever asked this, much less expected to introduce himself. “I am Atem Pasha, crown prince of Egypt,” and it sounded incredibly vain when he said it himself. But it didn’t matter; there was no recognition in her eyes. So he gently prompted her, “And you?”

Instead of answering she started to shake, casting wild eyes around the room. “Who are you?” She repeated, voice growing in volume and panic. “Where am I? _Where is Max?_ ”

Atem watched, frozen to his seat, as she started to sob. She was clinging to the door handle but her legs gave out and she sank to the floor, and her cries became _screams_ as though attacked, and Atem gaped helplessly, unsure what to do.

He didn’t have to do anything; a moment later Maximillian hurled into the room like a storm, but his hands landed on her softly.

“My love, go back to bed.” His voice was a low coo, and she calmed, eyes fixed on him but still whispering over and over _where did you go, where am I—_

Maximillian tenderly pulled her shawl snug around her shoulders, eyes only for her, and Atem felt like an intruder to something deeply private. But the Earl did not even glance at him as he helped Cyndia to her feet and guided her away.

Even with the fire, Atem felt numb. Was uncomfortable in the stifling atmosphere of the Earl’s manor. So he fetched his cloak though there was nowhere to go.

*

It was a small town and people talked, just like Ron said.

Men were pulling yet more empty nets from their boats onto the shore, grumbling not just about the red serpent but the foreigner who had arrived alongside this ill omen to curse their usually bountiful waters.

A storm — a real one? — was brewing in the distance. A stiff easterly gale was ripping over the ocean, stripping leaves off trees and clothes off lines, and sending women and men alike hurrying to overturn boats and rush sheep into barns and collect every loose thing that threatened to blow away.

There were only a few looks spared towards Atem, but the once curious eyes that had followed him had hardened into something else.

He felt vulnerable in a way he hadn’t, even back in Cairo. He was a stranger here, but he knew just as well how deep superstition and suspicion could run in a small village. He couldn’t help but touch his hand to his chest, over the talisman hidden under his robes. Wondered what he could do about Slipher. How to make these days pass faster.

That night he laid awake for hours, arms wrapped around himself, under the blankets that couldn’t warm his feet, and his heart that beat an endless chorus of dread.

He felt lost, but he wasn’t alone.

Someone was kissing his mouth, whispering _I’m here, Atem, come back_. There was nothing to see or touch, even as he tried to drag himself closer to this person he couldn’t reach.

He had to be dreaming, but it still felt like love or fate or hope. Hands and lips meeting and light spilling out like the sun through a hopeless, heavy night, and Atem was begging _don’t leave me here_ over and over and over.

It wasn’t real though, and he couldn’t escape this place, and a joyless dawn arrived.

*

Though Atem had days ago resolved to _never_ mention the weather again, the storm that was brewing made everyone’s faces turn wan and tight. Instead of relieved that he wasn’t the only one seeing black clouds and dense fog, he felt _worse_. The storm was no longer something ominous in his head, but bleeding into reality.

So he kept to the house. Sat through frosty conversation at mealtimes with the Earl. Saw no more of Cyndia.

On his own, Atem tried not to stare out the window at the waves frothing between the red rocks of the Sound. Instead he sat himself on a floral settee in the drawing room, only pretending to read, eyes unfocused, listening.

He hadn’t found the clock that seemed to echo through the walls and floors, but he could hear it counting the hours with a somber chime.

And when night came again, as much as he wanted to roll under the blankets, hide away in the shelter of that voice, he didn’t. He had set himself a task for tonight.

When the manor was dark and silent, all the other residents resting, he crept outside.

The cellar out back, a deep room with a low ceiling dug into the earth, was bursting to full. Freshly stocked with the many goods that had been delivered by the ship alongside Atem. Baskets of onions and squash, bushels of apples and cabbage and carrots. Deep wooden boxes of salted fish and beef on the floor beside burlap sacks of potatoes and flour. Rows of preserves in glass jars along the shelves.

Atem took only as much as he thought might not be missed. He wrapped a cabbage, some carrots, two apples, and a single pungent strip of dried cod in a linen cloth before stealthily making his way to the water.

The path was dark, too cloudy for even the moon to light his way. The sound of the waves masked his footsteps, and the wind was fierce enough that he had to stop twice to re-light the wick in his lantern. Unlike the banks of the Nile the shore here was all jutting rocks and he slipped more than once, but he kept going until he felt, with a sharp inhale, water seep through the leather sole of his shoe.

He debated stripping, but he was so cold he could only bring himself to drop his cloak beside the lantern before stepping in wearing everything else. His clothes fanned out around him as the water caught them, and his heart stuttered and his breath caught in his throat. He’d thought he was cold before, but this was unlike anything he could have ever imagined.

But he forced himself forward, step after careful step. As far as he dared before the waves could drag him under.

How long could he stand like this? He hurried, tried to speak through his chattering teeth loud enough for his voice to carry over the wind. Asked that his humble offering might appease the god who had travelled with him so far from home.

Be generous to these people. Continue to watch over him—

“What are you _doing?_ ” someone screamed.

Atem stuttered on his words and twisted around, cloth bundle still in hand. The Earl was standing on the shore, oil lamp held aloft, the only light in the night.

And as Atem floundered for an explanation, a huge wave crashed against him. He lost his footing, went reeling into the water. It was like a hand of ice clamped around his neck, froze the air in his lungs, and then he was floundering for real—

But the Earl did not reach for him, just stared in disbelief as Atem scrambled onto shore, pushed by the waves. Made no move to help as Atem collapsed on the rocky beach, shaking and gasping.

“Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?” the Earl with a hysterical disbelief. He was holding the lantern over Atem’s head.

“No, I—” he couldn’t think straight. Everything in his mind seemed to have gone _white_ as he stared up at the Earl’s face. The flash of rage came out of nowhere, left him dizzy, and he had to twist away. Thoughts coming too fast and too slow at the same time. He couldn’t think of an _excuse_ for being out here as he looked down at the bundle in his hands, then looked out to the water.

The Earl followed his gaze, held the lantern higher—

And swore in shock.

Atem could see it too. The lantern spilled a wavering radiance over black water and red scales. A huge serpentine body looming out of the water. The puff of warm breath that misted over them.

Slipher was waiting for his dues.

The Earl was frozen in place, as though _he_ was the one who had been soaked in the ocean, but Atem rolled to his feet and rushed back into the water, pushing out his meagre offering.

The movement shocked Maximillian into action, and he rushed to grab Atem by the cowl, finally dragging him out and away from the water. He was laughing, nervous like the warning of an avalanche. But his eyes were looking at Atem clearly for the first time since he’d arrived in Crawford Sound.

“Tell me! What is that beast? What did you _bring here_?”

Atem looked helplessly at the water, where the serpent had vanished from view.

“Slipher,” he confessed, but his tongue burned like he’d spoken a curse.

*

The Earl was on his third whiskey, hands gripping the crystal glass so hard it might shatter, eyes boring into Atem—

Atem who was _losing his mind_. Couldn’t look at the man across from him without his head splitting from a headache, and his heart was drumming out a furious rhythm, and his mouth felt like it was full of tar, and he was numb to his core—

But the Earl had thrown a blanket over his wet shoulders, parked him in the sitting room, barely lit by the single lantern and a dying fire. None of it felt thoughtful. He sat in the chair between Atem and the door.

Maximillian wanted _answers_ and Atem supposed it was his right, as the lord of this little place.

He tried to explain it the way his mother had to him as a child: calm and reassuring. Slipher was an old river spirit, a god of both life and death. Atem had only been offering up a token of his gratitude.

And where Atem might have expected Maximillian to scoff in that haughty English way, he instead looked _desperately hopeful._

“A god of life? Could it… Can it heal people?” He was almost breathless with exhilaration.

“I…” Atem had convinced himself the Earl was a shady character. All week his head and his heart had been filled with warnings that kept him tense and suspicious. But all he saw in the man before him was someone despairing for a loved one. “There are stories of it, yes.” The Earl was still looking at him expectantly, so Atem expanded on his story, telling him of his mother’s ancestor. A child restored to life, and that same blessing of _life_ passed down through the generations. Atem drew out the talisman from under his robes, away from where it usually hid warm and close to his heart. The little golden triangle was orange in the lamplight. “It is not just life. In exchange, upon death we offer ourselves back. This is passed down as a reminder of what is owed.”

He was certain he wasn’t explaining it well. The poems and riddles of his mother’s tongue carried so much more wonder and warning. And he was reluctant to say more than necessary, because _magic_ and _old gods_ were not something he wanted to share with friends, much less strangers. Secret superstitions that should have been kept hidden in Wadi Halfa.

But Slipher had followed him here, and Atem felt responsible. And the Earl had brought his chair close, looking for all the world like he’d been waiting for _magic_ and _old gods_ his entire life.

It was so unsettling Atem couldn’t help but edge back.

Maximillian snatched at his wrist to keep him in place, hand pinching uncomfortably around his gold bracelets. “She is getting worse. Can’t remember things. Can barely walk these days.” There was an earnest tremor in his voice. “Sometimes she forgets even _me_. Tell me how to summon your dragon, I would do anything to have her healed.”

Atem hadn’t meant to give him false hope. Didn’t think Slipher would dole out blessings to strangers in strange waters. Letting down the Earl now seemed a better idea than letting him get carried away with this idea.

“We do not decide when our time comes,” Atem said firmly, twisting his arm out of the Earl’s grip.

Maximillian’s expression soured.

“We don’t?” There was a chilling light in his eyes. “Many would disagree with you. People will always die, and it is up to people like us to decide when and where and why.”

A visceral disgust wound its way through Atem. Here lay the common ground between the Earl and his cousin: a disregard for anyone who could not serve their means. “I live in service to my people, but I also know the only thing that can be controlled is oneself, and even that comes with limits.” Everything else was persuasion or manipulation or force, and Atem preferred the gentler of those options.

Maximillian huffed. “Abbas said you were like this. _Naive._ Lacking in conviction.”

And Atem thought the Earl lacked _many things_. His spine crawled at the mention of his cousin, felt hollow at the thought of the kinds of words that might have been exchanged between them. But it wasn’t half as bad as some of the things Abbas had said to his face. And the Earl was speaking the hurt accusations of a man burdened with grief. So Atem didn’t return the insult.

“I’m sorry about your wife,” he said. His knees were aching from the cold, and his clothes stiff and damp under the blanket, but he forced his way to standing. “And I apologise if this ordeal has upset you. But it is best to accept when things are beyond our power.”

The Earl looked, for a second, like he was about to stop him from leaving. He seemed to think better of it, and instead gave a derisive snort before throwing back the rest of his drink. “You’re nothing but a lonesome boy. You know nothing about duty or service. I would give anything for my wife.”

Atem thought of a voice, a siren song that called his name across some black void, and thought of how he might give anything to go to it. “Then give her the gift of your company as long as you can.”

*

He wanted to fall into his strange dreams. Wanted to sleep away the next two nights until he could board that ship and _leave leave leave_ this place behind.

Instead he stoked the fire in his room, hung his clothes by the mantle to dry, and sat close, watching it burn until he had no more wood to fuel it.

When it died down, his skin was dry and the blanket over his shoulders heavy, but nothing had warmed him. And he couldn’t hear anyone whispering his name. There was just the press of the night around him, a conspicuous darkness confining him. A fear and a madness burning cold deep inside him.

There were steps, soft and restless, pacing in the room above, and Atem felt the same. Maximillian likely wouldn’t sleep after what he’d seen and heard, and Atem was so disconcerted by the manic light in his eyes, the unease of this place, that he gave up ideas of sleep too. Decided to search for something warm.

The sun would rise soon, so he changed into clean, dry clothes. Pulled on his cloak too – though it did nothing against the chill radiating out of him – and exited the room quietly.

No one was up yet. Not even the cook in the kitchen, though they would surely soon be there baking bread and boiling water for morning tea. The kitchen hearth was stone cold though, so Atem went back to the sitting room, where the embers were still warm in the fireplace and a stack of logs were piled neatly beside it. He fed it two and coaxed a flame to life, but felt too restless to sit.

He went looking for a book. Had casually perused these shelves several times in the past few days, but now the obscure mix of themes made sense.

Medicine.

Magic.

Religion.

A superstitious man, seeking any hope for a dying wife.

Atem grimaced, and regretted feeding even _more_ notions to the Earl’s delusions. He frowned at the titles, until one caught his eye. In French, _Letters Written on Egypt and Nubia_ , the title and the name _Champollion_ pressed into the leather spine.

Curious, he pulled it out, and found it was not just a book of published letters, but a handful of personal letters had been tucked in between the pages too.

“…Abbas,” Atem breathed, and a shiver ran up his spine as he unfolded one. His cousin’s letters to the Earl, written in jilted English cursive. He looked over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone, and then sat close to the light of the fire.

There were a dozen letters in all, the earliest ones to do with the simple transaction of selling horses, but the later ones were longer. Politics. Egypt and Britain and pacifying the Ottomans.

It seemed Abbas had been fast friends with the Earl. Aligned in their thoughts on what direction Egypt _ought_ to take.

They mentioned his grandfather and his uncle. _Old men straying from tradition_.

They mentioned Atem, too. _An obstacle._

His hands shook as he kept reading.

And his heart was pounding in time with that persistent cry of _leave_ in the back of his mind.

It was all a ploy to get him out of the way. _Treason_. God, of course it was. He really was naïve.

He had to get out of here. Get on that ship, and out of the Sound, and back _home_.

Atem stood and turned to the door only to find the way blocked.

Maximillian was standing there, half lit by the fire, his lips turned in a frown, and his eyes dark, narrowing as they settled on the letters still clutched in Atem’s hands.

Tension lanced through the air.

“Let me leave, and I will never speak of your conspiracy,” Atem spoke, quiet and stern. “I will only hold my cousin accountable.”

The Earl, wrapped in a long crimson robe, tsked. “Why would I do that?”

Abbas might want power and decadence and money. Had somehow persuaded the Earl to aid him. But Atem looked at those eyes, glinting in the night, and he knew there was only one thing Maximillian wanted.

“I can’t help your wife,” he insisted.

Maximillian stepped closer. Atem backed up. Felt the draft from the window against his neck.

“Give me your little trinket. Let me at least _try_.” His words were pleading, but he moved in like something predatory.

“You conspire against me, and ask for impossible things?” The words came out venomously, and he sucked in a breath to try and think calmly. He didn’t know what Abbas had promised the Earl, but he doubted it was as enticing as a _dragon_ that might heal his sick wife. Atem didn’t think he could actually help but if he played his cards right, a sweet promise, he might be able to leave as he wished.

“Conspire? You’re here as my guest.” The words were slick with false sincerity. The same way everyone back home spoke to him. “An indefinite guest,” Maximillian added in the face of Atem’s unwavering scowl.

“I’m getting on that boat tomorrow.” He was determined, speaking the words like they might pacify the dread that was trying to swallow him up. “You don’t need me. Bring an offering to the water yourself. Ask Slipher for whatever you need. It’s not up to me what he grants, or the price.” Atem tried to make it sound like a fact.

The Earl seemed to consider that, head tilted thoughtfully, and he looked out the window over Atem’s shoulder to the light starting to filter over the Sound. Atem turned as well, almost expecting to see Slipher out there, clamouring over the rocks exposed by low tide. But there were only dense storm clouds, low and close, and the ocean frothing with anticipation.

“If you say so,” he heard, too close behind him, and he was knocked out.

*

Atem woke up in the shed behind the house, hands and feet bound painfully tight, gag snug over his mouth. His head was spinning with panic that wasn’t entirely his own, full of thunder and rain and wind and the ocean coming for him—

He tried to suck in a steadying breath through his nose. The storm wasn’t here yet. It was just rain against the single window pane, a hushed sound washing over the roof. He was distantly aware it was daytime but everything was so _dark_. That black fog kept seeping through the back of his mind into the rest of his senses.

He wanted to scream, throw off these binds. Prayed for someone to open the door and save him.

But he was alone for hours. Alone except for that persistent echo of _Atem Atem Atem_ trying to summon him _somewhere_. But how could he get out of this? How could he grab hold of that thread of hope that wanted to pull him away from here?

He sat on the floor, stiff and unmoving, imagined those invisible hands that cradled his face instead moving to untie his binds.

The darkness was thickening, same as the night that was again settling over Crawford Sound, and as it deepened, the storm rose higher, and that voice fell further away.

And when he couldn’t hear it anymore, the latch on the door jostled and was thrown open. The gaping doorway let in the wind, and the rain, and the Earl.

He was soaked, and _furious_ , and slammed the door shut behind him.

“You take me for a fool,” he howled. “I brought the best of everything I had. Meat! Fruit! Nothing came to me!”

Atem ignored him, pointedly looking away.

Maximillian crossed the room in three long strides and ripped the cloth from Atem’s mouth. “Help me, and I will let you leave.”

“You can’t keep me here. People know where I am. There will be consequences,” he hissed back. At least, he hoped so. But who other than his uncle might _care_ that he never came back? He kept his face rigid as the Earl’s hand landed on his shoulder, crushingly tight.

“Everyone here thinks you’re on the ship already, ready to leave as soon as the storm passes. Help me, and I will make that _true._ ”

His mouth went dry. How badly he wanted that. But he was bound on the floor, and the Earl himself had put him here, and there was no way to _force_ Slipher to accept the Earl’s offering.

But maybe it would accept Atem’s. A wish to _leave_ this place.

Maximillian took Atem’s silence for hesitation. “I promise. The ship was delayed by the storm. There’s still time for you to join it.” He was shaking Atem by the shoulders. “Call your god here, help Cyndia. And you can leave. I’ll testify against your cousin. Anything.”

Atem stared up at that face. Could see that desperate hope for _life_ that almost matched his own wish for _escape_.

He nodded.

*

Atem couldn’t hear anything except the ocean. Couldn’t feel anything except the sting of rain soaking into his clothes and the wind tearing at his cape and hair.

The storm landed in the night, and it was impossible to see anything either. If a villager dared to look out their window they wouldn’t be able to see what was happening.

Just behind him was the Earl, one hand bodily forcing Atem ahead to the edge of the wharf, the other tenderly holding Cyndia close. She was barely lucid, clinging to her husband, indifferent to the storm or the spectacle of Atem inches away from being thrown into the ocean.

Atem’s own arms were full, a sheet wrapped around a load of vegetables and fruits and salted meat – a wasteful abundance in his mind. He had thought he might drop everything, jump in and try to swim away. But the waves were cresting over the wood slats to soak Atem’s feet and its touch was almost as icy as the Earl’s fist in his collar, and he found he couldn’t move.

Maximillian was shouting “ _Call it out,”_ over the wind, as though Slipher was a pet dog that would do Atem’s bidding.

There was another voice, soft in his ear, speaking from somewhere far away from this place and this storm. _Atem, please, stop, come back, please—_

He didn’t know where he was supposed to go but oh, he wanted to follow it—

“Second thoughts?” The Earl’s unfriendly voice cut through, and Atem was sucked back into this moment. Atem felt a hand paw at his neck to snatch at his mother’s talisman. “Is this what the monster answers to?”

Before he could stop it, the gold chain was looped around Cyndia’s swan-like neck, and it filled him with a nauseous fury, to be robbed of _that._ But his body felt frozen, slow to turn, and he could hardly breathe to shout, but he was howling in rage all the same, into the wind around him, and into that void inside him.

And from that place he couldn’t reach he heard something else echo back. Not a voice, but a foreboding of what was going to happen.

He knew with a sudden sick clarity that Slipher hadn’t come here to watch over him.

It had known his time was coming.

It was here to claim him.

Atem wasn’t ready for this.

The thought was there and gone, and something cut through him; a knife in his chest and the Earl’s words in his ears.

“I promised your cousin you would never leave. You may as well make yourself useful. A life for a life. Tell your red serpent I’m grateful for its gift.”

The offering tumbled out of Atem’s arms over the edge of the wharf, and into the water, and Atem was pushed along with it.

Slipher’s gift to his ancestors would end with him, and start fresh with someone new. But this time with someone who thought life was bought with the deaths of others—

Even as blood spilled from between his ribs, Atem wanted to fight back. To scream _it doesn’t work like that._ To curse the Earl with his last breaths for betraying him, and cheating Slipher. Atem was furious and resentful. He’d never got the chance to do _anything_ he’d wanted with the precious gift of his own life and the Earl of Crawford was stealing it for himself—

The last thing he saw was that Earl in his red coat, standing at the edge of the wharf before the waves swept him away into the current, and all he could see was _black_ as the storm dragged him further into the Sound.

Was Slipher coming through the water for him?

Or was he close to the shore, eating up the Earl’s decoy offering of fruits and vegetables, breathing vitality into the Earl’s wife?

Atem crashed onto the rocks, and it didn’t matter anymore. When Slipher didn’t swallow him up, Atem knew he was ruined. He had unintentionally cheated Slipher.

Without that serpent to bear him away, Atem would be cursed, and his soul would never leave this place.

Trapped forever as nothing but an angry, lonely, lost soul.

*

There was nothing of Atem for Yugi to hold on to anymore.

Nothing of him in the bed beside Yugi. Not even a conscious presence behind his eyes. The ghost was formless like a shadow, had lost all sense of self and seeped into him.

And Yugi was choking on it. A suffocating fog in his head. A black emptiness crushing him from the inside out.

He opened his mouth to call Atem again but only silence came out. And there was nothing but the taste of someone else’s furious grief on his tongue.

*

He could hear the soft beat of his own heart. A warm sensation that pulled him up and out of the depths of unconsciousness.

Yugi woke up.

It was so bright that he had to screw his eyes shut, turn his head away from the window. Even that small movement hurt. His head was throbbing, and his ribs screamed in protest with every breath.

“Atem,” he wheezed, and he held out a hand, because surely the ghost would be worried, or frightened. He had been so _adamant_ about Yugi leaving, so concerned about hurting Yugi. He had to let him know he was alright.

There was the welcome sound of someone scrambling to his side, and the sensation of the edge of the bed dipping down under their weight.

But his heart stopped when it was a warm hand that took his, and a woman’s voice that spoke.

“Oh my god, _Yugi_!”

He had to open his eyes, because this could only be a hallucination.

It was Anzu, with her bob of brown hair and wide eyes, and her slender fingers clutching Yugi’s. Her face was puffy, blue eyes lined with red. “They didn’t know if you’d wake up.” She hiccupped, and there were fresh tears tracking down her cheeks.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse. It felt like all of him was being squeezed in a vice. He couldn’t seem to look past her face, couldn’t think past the empty space in his head, couldn’t hear the ocean in this white room, and panic was rising in his chest because _where was Atem—_

“Hawkins Harbour,” she answered slowly, letting go of one hand to wipe at her eyes so she could better study his face. “The coast guard rescued you,” she continued at Yugi’s stunned expression. “I flew in as soon as I heard about the accident.”

Yugi could only stare back, mind stumbling over the word _accident_.

She held his hand even tighter. “…Do you remember the fire? You must have been so scared.”

And she was right, Yugi was terrified, because he had _no idea_ what she was talking about.


	12. Chapter 12

_“To mark the centennial anniversary of the Crawford Sound lighthouse, community members have been busy reminiscing over the history and superstitions surrounding the remote island. Lighthouse keepers handle massive responsibility in the face of isolation, fear, and uncertainty, and over the next week we will be publishing a selection of some of the most intriguing and inexplicable accounts of Crawford Sounds’ own haunted landmark.”_ ~ The Harbour Times, April 30th, 1950

*

Yugi’s head was throbbing from the whiplash of blacking out in Crawford Sound in a bed holding on to Atem and waking up in Hawkins Harbour with Anzu sitting at his side.

“What do you remember last?” Anzu prompted when he didn’t say anything.

“I– what day is it? How long have I been here?” he asked instead. His breath came too forcefully and he let out a whistle of pain, hands coming up automatically to his chest.

“Don’t freak out,” she started, which she realised was a bad way to start, so she hurried before Yugi could react. “It’s September twentieth.”

Yugi tried to bolt upright. “It’s been a _week_?”

Anzu was on her feet in a flash, ready to push him back down, but she didn’t need to. He couldn’t sit up more than a few inches, and he collapsed back onto the pillow with a hiss.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, just lie down—"

“No, no, no, I have to go back—”

“Yugi,” Anzu interrupted him firmly. “ _Firstly_ , you’ve got six broken ribs, and you’ve been out cold for _days._ You are staying _right here_.”

“Secondly _,_ ” she boldly pressed on over Yugi’s frantic sputtering. “You owe me a _huge_ apology. You put me as your emergency contact and don’t send so much as a _postcard_ before I get a call saying you’re in hospital—!”

She had her fists on her hips, simmering with anger as she scolded him, and her words filled Yugi with guilt, but this was so reassuringly _Anzu_ that he couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Yugi, I’m _serious—_ "

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, trying not to breathe too deeply. “I’m just glad you’re here.” Everything was coming as a shock. He could hardly wrap his head around where he was, but Anzu was a welcome sight in the midst of his confusion.

She deflated a little. “Can you tell me what happened? The coast guard could only piece together so much, and I swear every time I talk to someone in this town their ideas get even more insane.”

Yugi remembered Joey and the way he talked about the people in this vivacious little village. The way he and Herb had bantered about _ghosts_.

And from another memory, not his own, he could hear a man telling Atem _it’s a small town, people talk._

People must be talking a lot. And trust Anzu to want to hear the facts from the source. But what could he really say?

Yugi peeked under the hospital gown to look at his black-and-blue chest, swollen and tender. He’d only been a little bruised from his fall out of the boat, definitely nothing severe enough to land him in a hospital bed. But it had gotten worse with every time Atem had possessed him. A physical side effect of sharing his body with the ghost?

Those shadows hadn’t been just in his head, but something real, expanding through him until his body couldn’t contain them anymore.

There was no way he could tell anyone _that._

“I don’t know, Anzu. I went to bed at night and woke up here.”

He felt bad – did withholding details count as lying? Anzu was giving him a look that said she knew he was doing exactly that, but she sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“Do you need to go back to sleep? We can talk about it later.”

“No, it’s okay. Can you tell me what you’ve heard?”

She hesitated for a second, but gave in easily to Yugi’s wide eyes. “Well, I met with some guy from the coast guard…”

“Honda?”

She nodded. “He said the light went out at night, so they went to check on you. But when they got closer they found the lighthouse on fire. They think something electrical short circuited.”

Yugi pursed his lips. He definitely knew _someone_ who could cause that kind of problem. Had Atem set it intentionally when Yugi didn’t wake up from his memories? The thought of Atem panicking enough to do that made his heart ache.

“It… must have happened while I was asleep.”

Anzu wasn’t done. “They were worried you were up in the tower. But they found you in bed. You weren’t sleeping, you were _unconscious._ ” She looked about ready to throw something. “With _broken ribs_ , Yugi. What on earth happened to you?”

Yugi floundered for some kind of explanation. “I had an accident in the boat…” he started, and stopped himself because Anzu was suddenly _livid_.

“Honda said that had happened days before! You didn’t even have _food_? How long were you going to wait to ask for help? Yugi! I can’t believe you!”

“I’m sorry,” he said a second time, and he meant it. “I thought I was handling it okay. I didn’t mean to make you or anyone worry.” He recognized a lot of the emotions crossing her face. She was clearly mad, but also upset, and underneath that was a pained relief. “Thanks for coming all the way here. It’s good to see you, though I wish it was for a better reason.”

She was still giving him a conflicted look, but she sighed and took his hand again. “It’s what friends are for.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I always felt bad that I left you behind.”

“Hey, no, that’s not on you—”

“But it is! I feel like you’ve just been closing yourself off more and more for _ages_ but I took off to do my own thing anyway. And then you drop everything in Domino to come out _here_? And not just _here_ , but like some ancient lighthouse in literally the middle of nowhere all _alone_? Yugi, I’ve been _worried_ about you.”

Perhaps in an earlier time Yugi would have flinched at the words. They were certainly justified. But that scared version of himself was fading away into _then_ , and a stronger version of himself was stepping into the world _now_. Like the way Atem moved from air to shadows to something solid.

“I thought I was just trying to get away, or a change of scenery. I don’t know.” A small smile touched his face. “But it’s been really good for me.”

Anzu, city girl through and through, looked profoundly skeptical, but she patted his hand anyway and chose not to disagree with him. “I’m sorry, you just woke up. I shouldn’t be dumping on you like this.”

Yugi shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I deserve it,” he said with a pained grin.

“You don’t, Yugi. You’re my best friend. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

Safe and happy. Atem made him feel exactly those things.

Anzu fidgeted a little as she watched his face fall. “You must be exhausted. It’s alright if you want to go back to sleep. Everything is okay, you can just rest here.”

All Yugi could think was how he needed to get back to the lighthouse. Everything was definitely _not_ okay. But Anzu was right about one thing; he was exhausted, and he soon fell back into a deep sleep.

*

Yugi woke up later to the scent of the best damn thing he’d ever smelled in his entire life.

Anzu, perfect goddess and best friend in the world, had gone out and returned with a take-out box. Inside was a hefty hamburger, crispy fries and even a little garnish of green salad.

His hunger slammed into him, and he was ready to inhale the entire thing, box and all. But first Anzu and a nurse helped him sit up, and stuffed extra pillows behind his back, and made him swallow two enormous pills of pain medication, and placed a little table over his lap.

It was such an arduous process Yugi was positive that if he died before getting a bite of that burger he would become an even more resentful spirit than Atem.

He was even more horrified when he had to watch the nurse cut it in half. She put the other half aside and told him to take it easy before leaving him to devour what was left in front of him. But she was right. He hadn’t eaten in a week. Couldn’t even remember his last proper meal, much less one he’d enjoyed. His stomach started rebelling almost immediately as he scarfed down that first half, and he accidentally coughed, and it set off a flare of pain in his ribs, and _why was this so frustrating—_

Anzu, sitting primly beside him with her own take-out container on her lap, and substantially more green vegetables in it, smirked teasingly. “Serves you right, for making me worry. Just breathe calmly and take your time. You’re not going anywhere, and neither is that burger.”

Yugi stilled at those words. “I can’t stay here,” he said, thoughts immediately leaping to Atem and the lighthouse.

But Anzu nodded along agreeably. “You’ll need a place to stay when they discharge you. I’m staying at a bed and breakfast a street over. I can check if there’s a room free.” She noticed Yugi’s lack of enthusiasm at her suggestion. “I’m… only here until Sunday. You could come to New York and crash with me until you’re back on your feet.” Yugi knew her offer was sincere despite her reluctance. But she lived in a small apartment with four roommates. Even one or two nights on the couch would be a huge inconvenience, though Anzu would never admit such a thing.

And wasn’t where he wanted to go in the first place, though he didn’t get a chance to let her down.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” boomed a familiar voice from the doorway. Joey burst into the room, a violent ray of sunshine. “He can’t fly anywhere ‘til he’s all fixed up. He’s gonna to stay with me!”

“Joey!” Yugi exclaimed, delighted.

“The one and only!” He returned the grin as he strode over to the bedside opposite Anzu. “I knew you’d pull through. Dude, you gave us all a real scare though.” He poked Yugi’s side, making him wince, and Anzu slapped his hand away.

“He’s only allowed once visitor at a time,” she said flatly.

“Eh, they’re not really sticklers about that sort of thing,” Joey shrugged. “Besides, he’s gotta spill the beans, everyone’s dying to know what the hell happened. They’re probably gonna do a write up in the paper.”

“You guys still have _newspapers_ here?” Anzu was decidedly unimpressed.

“Have… you guys met already?” Yugi interrupted.

The dry look they exchanged over his head said _unfortunately_ yes.

“So Yugi, tell me everything,” Joey went on, ignoring Anzu. “Unless, you know… it wasn’t… just an accident…”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Anzu groaned, clearly not the first time she’d heard this kind of vague speculation.

“I fell out of the boat,” Yugi lied. “It wasn’t anything.”

But this prompted Joey to go on, aggrieved. “I _knew_ I shouldn’t have let you cross the strait alone. Shit, I’m sorry man. Honda ripped me a new one already, but if you wanna deck me, I’ll understand. It’ll probably make me feel better too.”

“No, no,” Yugi held up his hands placatingly. “It’s not your fault at all. Really, I was just careless.”

“If it makes _me_ feel better, can I hit him for you?” Anzu started, clearly ready to hold _someone_ at fault, but Joey talked over her.

“Well, I gotta make it up to you anyway. I’ve got an extra room, and my sis can help keep an eye on you too.”

The distance between the lighthouse and Hawkins Harbour was decidedly less than New York City, and the decision was easy to make. “Thanks, that would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, don’t worry.” He tried to steal two fries from Yugi’s lunch, but Yugi snatched the container away. Joey laughed brightly. “Sorry, yeah, you must be starving. We’ll go by the pub properly later. Everyone’ll be excited to meet you.”

Yugi, despite feeling a little nauseous, possessively crammed a fry in his mouth and talked around it. “Excited? Who?”

Anzu sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s all I’ve heard about this whole week. How you’re the first lighthouse keeper to leave this _haunted island_ ,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers.

Yugi froze for a second, before quickly recovering. “I’m pretty sure I’m not. What about Herb?”

Joey shook his head. “No way. He only went for short stints as a _volunteer_ between keepers. Straight up refused to ever work for the Crawfords properly. On principle, you know. You, on the other hand, are a _living legend_. They’re probably gonna build a statue of you!”

Anzu did _not_ share his enthusiasm. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You fly people in to work at a place where literally _everyone else has died_?”

“Accidents happen, you know. And for what it’s worth, I bet on Yugi surviving right from the start.”

“There’s a _betting pool_?!”

“Hey, well, it doesn't matter Anzu, I’m fine!” Yugi tried to calm her down, but she was fuming, and Joey’s laughter was doing nothing but rile her up.

Yugi gave up and continued eating slowly, listening to them banter beside him. He didn’t think Atem’s shadows had damaged his _heart,_ but if they had, this warm feeling inflating within him would be the right medicine. A good meal with a friend on each side.

All that was missing was one other important person. And, the same as Joey and Anzu wanted to take care of him, he knew he had to find a way back to help Atem.

*

Getting back to the lighthouse wasn’t going to happen right away.

Yugi first had to wait until the next day to be discharged. No one had any good explanation for his temporary coma, but he was awake and talking which was taken as a good sign. There was a round of peeved silence from both the doctor and nurse for his lame explanation that his ribs had been hurt when he’d fallen out of the boat, and a terse comment that the breaks weren’t _too_ severe and he should feel better in a few weeks.

Only after that was Yugi allowed to leave, a pill bottle of painkillers in hand, and a date for a follow up appointment.

Anzu and Joey had come to escort him away, and after weeks on a little island Yugi was happy to walk between them for the mile to Joey’s place. The fresh air was invigorating; a little blustery, but mild enough in spite of the wind, and they weren’t the only ones out enjoying Hawkins Harbour in the late September sunshine.

Yugi had only seen the town from above, and it hadn’t looked like much, but ground level offered a slightly more lively perspective. There were two major roads, with the inspired names of “Water Street” and “Main Street” that intersected at the only stop light, and the occasional car crossing through. The sidewalks were clean, and little houses were interspersed with the occasional business. There was a grocer, a post office, and the smell of a greasy griddle wafting from a pub named _The Harpy’s Bottle_.

He may have grown up in Domino, but his world had rapidly shrunk to a lighthouse, the ocean, and a quiet ghost. Main Street Hawkins Harbour felt like a metropolis in comparison, and it was surprisingly overwhelming.

“All his stuff is back at that lighthouse. He needs… everything!” Anzu, on his left, was throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Just pick him up a toothbrush, he’ll be fine.” Joey, on Yugi’s other side, was far less concerned.

“I… think I just need to lie down.” Yugi said. He was starting to feel dizzy, and while he’d felt good walking out of the community hospital, everything was quickly starting to ache again.

Joey and Anzu both shared, for the first time, a look of agreement. Anzu was pointed in the direction of a few shops where she might find whatever she deemed necessary for Yugi, and Joey led the rest of the way to his house.

“It’s not too far, buddy.” Joey’s pace was patient, but he was still excitedly pointing out things to Yugi. Arthur’s General Store, run by a descendant of the original Hawkins family that settled here. The marina where nearly everyone gathered on Tuesdays to race sailboats. Only when they passed the tiny public library did they veer onto a short residential street.

Yugi wasn’t sure what to expect but Joey’s home, somewhat surprisingly, fit in nicely with the other quaint houses on the street; white with green trim, a small front porch, and an old but clean pick-up truck parked outside a garage.

Inside was slightly worn but comfortable furniture. There were even a few framed pictures on the walls, faded paintings of flowers or coastal landscapes, and Yugi suspected Joey hadn’t been the one to decorate but it added a homey, lived in touch. Joey wasted no time in leading Yugi on a simple tour, pointing out essentials like the kitchen and bathroom, not even pretending to be embarrassed by the pile of dishes in the sink, or the socks on the coffee table, and Yugi wasn’t bothered either. He was impressed that a guy as young as Joey owned his own place, and when he voiced this Joey beamed.

“You get the guest room,” he said proudly, and Yugi was even more impressed that there _was_ a guest room. They went up a flight of stairs and Joey pushed open a door to a bedroom. It wasn’t much bigger than the room he’d used in the keeper’s quarters, and absolutely nothing matched, but it was clean and cozy, and Yugi happily sat down on the bed.

“Bunch of neighbours gave me some old furniture when I bought the place last year. It’s great. Everyone helps out each other when they can.”

The sense of community Joey took such pride in made Yugi smile in return. “It’s a nice view,” he said, when he looked out the window.

The marina was in clear view, filled with a colourful mix of skiffs and dories. A short, squat lighthouse, too small for anything but an automated light, was set out on a rock a short distance in the water.

Joey followed his gaze. “They’re fixing it up already, you know,” he said. “The lighthouse. Got a whole crew of construction workers repairing the fire damage. Should be up and running again in a week or so.”

“…Was the fire that bad?” Yugi asked softly.

Joey scratched his head. “Well, I haven’t gotten a good look at the place since it happened. I took some things over to Mr. Crawford last weekend, after Honda’s crew brought you in, but there was a ton of fog around the island. And fire or not, you know better than anyone that it’s long overdue for some repairs.”

“Pegasus is still out there?”

“Yeah,” Joey said, making a face. “All the contractors are staying in his place while they do the work. Three guys quit after one night on the island, and the rest refused to keep staying there. Mr. Crawford still seemed pretty sick, but he was pretty accommodating.” Joey didn’t seem able to decide if this was horrible or hilarious.

Yugi was suddenly dizzy. Not with the thought of Pegasus playing host, or even Atem with all those people stomping around the island. But rather the vision of workers in boats, going back and forth across the Sound, and the Earl of Crawford leaning on his cane, watching them from the wharf. Waiting for someone to fall in.

And Slipher, enormous and patient, mouth open, waiting too, to slurp up whoever drowned first.

“They should stay on the island,” Yugi said firmly. “Can you find a way to radio them? They shouldn’t be out there in boats!”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Joey tried to pacify him. “I know you had a rough go in the water, but Honda’s crew is posted nearby until the light gets up and running again. And these guys are, no offense, pros.”

Yugi wasn’t calmed. “No, you have to tell them. There’s nothing to be afraid of on the island.”

Joey was immune to Yugi’s urgency. “I’m heading back this weekend with more grub and gear. I guess I can tell them.” He added as an afterthought: “But you were literally found broken and unconscious with the lighthouse on fire. Folks are superstitious and no one’s gonna line up to stay there anytime soon.”

“That’s not what happened,” Yugi said, though it was kind of exactly what had happened. “It was just an accident.”

He chuckled, amused. “Mr. Crawford is gonna have a hell of a time trying to replace you!”

Yugi, who moments ago had felt like he might collapse on the bed and never get up again, was resolute.

“He doesn’t have to replace me. I’m going back.”

*

Joey brushed Yugi’s words off as confusion or exhaustion or the pain meds, and told him to rest, and left Yugi to get himself settled.

Yugi didn’t rest though. He lay on the bed, head swimming. Pegasus must be thrilled to have boatloads of people going across the strait twice a day. It would be just a matter of time before one of them fell into the water and drowned. Because that’s what the Crawfords _would_ think was necessary: that Atem’s life had bought Cyndia’s, rather than a simple basket of vegetables, and more were needed to keep their dynasty going.

Yugi could still remember that cluster of headstones tucked away behind the Earl’s house. Pegasus describing how his ancestors were preternaturally long-lived. At the time Yugi had felt a little envious, wishing his own loved ones were so fortunate. But now he knew the Crawfords were buying time at the expense of others.

The Crawfords didn’t understand that the sacrifice wasn’t meant to be _others,_ but rather _themselves,_ offered up humbly once their time was up.

A thought struck Yugi. Had Maximillian unwittingly cursed himself and his descendants to be ghosts, like Atem? An entire family line unable to move on because none of them knew _it didn’t have to be done this way_?

Perhaps they wouldn’t be furiously resentful like Atem, but quietly lingering by their graves, thinking it was worth it so that their family line might continue. Their _legacy_.

Maybe he could explain it to Pegasus. Stop him from continuing this cruel and unnecessary ritual, and return those other bodies to Slipher. It wouldn’t help Atem move on, but maybe it would bring him a little peace.

Yugi lay there, musing over the Crawfords and the blessings and curses of a sea monster he barely understood.

He also wondered about Atem, but it was hard to think of the ghost clearly. His mind kept wandering into their strange, half-shared memories, blurred with the present. Sometimes in a bed in the keeper’s quarters. Or a bed in the Earl’s house a century and a half ago. Desperately reaching out to find each other but never quite able to hold on.

Yugi placed one hand over his heart, like Atem had, and his other on his mouth that had spoken Atem’s words.

Outside the window, there were the sounds of life in Hawkins Harbour. Motorboats puttering through the harbour. The occasional vehicle rumbling along a street. Children in a yard squealing with laughter. The quiet muttering of Joey’s TV downstairs.

They drowned out the sound of the ocean itself, and every noise just reminded him of how far he was from Atem.

There were no words for how badly his heart ached to hurry back to him. Only that the ache in his broken ribs was nothing compared to it.

*

Yugi wasted the afternoon like that, lost in thought, until someone rang the doorbell downstairs and he heard Joey stomp over to open it.

“It’s open, you know,” Yugi could hear Joey say from downstairs.

“You don’t lock your _doors_?” came Anzu’s scandalized voice.

Yugi rolled himself out of bed to stand and went to intervene. Anzu was already in the hallway, a few shopping bags over both arms. She held them up and away so neither Joey or Yugi could take them. “I’ve got it! Come on, Yugi, I’ll show you what I picked up.”

Anzu, saint that she was, had diligently outfitted him with the basics: a pair of soft pyjamas for night, and for the day black pants and button-down shirts ( _easier to put on while you recover_ , she insisted) that all looked about the right size, along with a small bag of toiletries.

“I figured this was enough to get you at least a bit settled.”

Yugi thought he might burst with a wave of affection. “Thank you. Let me know how much I owe you.”

She waved her hand. “Later. I just want to make sure you're not going to be stuck wearing _that_ the entire time you’re here.”

Yugi looked down at the mismatched sweatpants and sweater that had come back from the island with him and laughed. He stopped himself just as quickly, his bones sharply protesting. “I’m going to shower and change. Are you going to join us for dinner? Joey said his mom is going to drop off something for us.”

Anzu unexpectedly cheered at that. “I’ve been eating nothing but pastries and pub food for five days. I’d love a home cooked meal.”

Yugi agreed whole-heartedly.

*

A quiet weekend passed under Anzu and Joey’s attentive care. They squabbled whenever they were in the same room, but were unified in their insistence that Yugi go nowhere and do nothing, until Sunday morning arrived, and the trio had to make their way to the airport. Joey for a supply run out to Crawford Sound, and Anzu to catch her flight back home.

They piled into the front bench seat of Joey’s pick-up. Yugi was crowded between them, smiling to himself as they tried to air all their lighthearted grievances against the other before parting.

He was going to miss this, but saying goodbye to Anzu wasn’t as bad as Yugi expected. The memory of their last parting, having been dredged up by Atem’s shadows, was fresher than it would have otherwise been. But standing beside her in the little seating area in the Hawkins Harbour airport office he found he wasn’t so afraid of saying goodbye. Seeing her had been good, and it had been reassuring to find that after more than a year apart their friendship was still as strong as anything.

And he wasn’t so scared of his own uncertain future. He’d been able to find friendship and purpose in unlikely places. A quiet confidence was unfurling within him.

“It was good to see you, Anzu. Really, it means a lot that you came all the way out here.”

“You’ve changed,” she said, not unkindly. “More handsome, of course. Taller too.” She winked before leaning down to hug him lightly, mindful of his ribs. “And I’m obviously always going to worry about you, but…” She stood up straight again, and there was a glimmer of pride in her eyes. “I guess I’m not so worried anymore.”

“Thanks, Anzu. I’ll do better about keeping in touch, too.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek, and Yugi, even years after his high school crush had faded, couldn’t help his blush.

“Rest up, and the offer always stands, if you decide to come to New York.”

He grinned back and thanked her again, though he knew he wasn’t going to take her up on it.

New York, Domino, Hawkins Harbour, a lighthouse in the sea…

The place didn’t matter. He just wanted to be with Atem.

*

After watching Anzu’s flight take off Yugi went to hunt down Joey.

He found him, as expected, by his beloved seaplane, fastening down cargo.

“Hey, are you heading out soon?”

Joey glanced over his shoulder. “In a couple minutes.” His smile twisted with irritation as he patted the bins of fresh food. “Mr. Crawford’s apparently more generous about meal quality when he has to look people in the face every night.”

“Do you think I could go with you?”

Joey stopped what he was doing to turn and look at Yugi fully. “Dude, no. What for? You’ve been out of hospital all of three days. I’m not flying you anywhere, least of all _there_.”

Yugi had expected this kind of protest. He swallowed the word _Atem_ that continuously thrummed through his lungs and throat and veins, and instead said, “I want to pick up some of my things. You know, my phone and some more clothes. It’s all still back in the keeper’s quarters.”

Joey paled. “You sure you can’t just buy new things?” Then he caught himself and apologised. “Sorry, yeah, of course. I’ll grab your stuff while I’m out there. You don’t have to worry about it. You just go back home and put your feet up!” He gave Yugi a cheery thumbs up. “I’ll take care of it!”

Yugi couldn’t care less about his things. He wanted to see Atem. Talk to him. Let the ghost back in so Yugi could hear his words again. Feel another heart filling the now strangely empty space around his own.

But Joey looked about ready to kick him all the way back to the house, broken bones be damned. So Yugi thanked him and went back to the house to wait.

*

Yugi lay in bed, wide awake, thoughts far away, until he heard Joey’s truck pull up in the driveway that evening. The sound of tires on gravel jerked him back to where he was, and he hurried as fast as he could down the stairs.

“Welcome back,” Yugi said as the door opened. He paused at the sight of Joey's tight expression. He was carrying only Yugi’s backpack, and neither of his suitcases. “Is… everything okay?”

“I am never setting foot on that island again.” He closed the front door roughly, like he was being pursued. “Yugi, that place is the stuff of _nightmares_. I’m never gonna sleep again. I totally get why the contractors refused to stay there. Even staying with a bastard like Mr. Crawford is better than whatever the _fuck_ is going on there.”

Yugi knuckles were white on the banister. “…Why? What happened?”

“I need… I don’t know. Something strong.”

Yugi made tea, the next best thing he could think of when faced with Joey’s empty fridge, and cleared off the coffee table to set down two mugs. Joey didn’t even look at it as he sank into the deep cushions of the couch, hands covering his face.

“Listen, I have _no idea_ how you were there alone for a month. That whole place is _cursed_ , the fog hasn’t moved all week. It ain’t natural, practically black once you’re in it. I swear, the air felt _heavy_.”

Yugi knew the strange weight of the air that surrounded Atem when he pulled into a physical body in the present. It was hard to imagine it blanketing the entire island, fury and grief so vast it couldn’t be contained within his form.

Yugi clasped his hands together tightly to hide their shaking, but Joey wasn’t paying attention.

“It’s Sunday, so no one else should be there, right?” he went on, unable to get the words out fast enough. “Except the door to the house was locked. Why would it be locked? Who’d even be in there, maybe one of the guys from the coast guard? Contractor doing overtime? So I knocked, and someone unbolted the door. _I heard it_. It wasn’t in my head. It was locked, and then it wasn’t. But I went in and there was no one there.”

Yugi’s pulse was loud in his ears, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I tried to get the lights, to see _._ The electrical work’s supposed to be all done, but you know, they fucked up or something, because none of the lights would turn on _._ ” Joey was sweating, staunchly avoiding Yugi’s eyes. “I found your lantern though, and the place was empty. Totally alone. Except there was something walking up the stairs behind me. Real quiet, not like my noisy feet.”

Joey was clearly terrified as he recounted his story, but Yugi was lost in the description, heart beating with something much warmer than fear.

He imagined trailing his hands up the wall with a shadow under his palm. Letting his voice and heartbeat leave a trail of breadcrumbs for Atem. The ghost hungrily following to meet Yugi in the present moment, and his strong hands littered with rings coming up to _hold on_ —

“Something definitely followed me into the room. I could feel it watching me, and when I started to pack up your stuff, I swear to _fucking_ god I felt a hand grab me—” Joey was almost hyperventilating, and Yugi had to shake himself out of his own fantasy to calm him down.

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. I believe you.” Yugi reached out, placing his hand on Joey’s arm. The way Joey startled made him remember the way he’d jumped the first time Atem had touched him, what felt like an eternity ago. How Atem had wanted to warn him, down by the boathouse.

How Atem used touch to speak. To hold on to his tenuous thread to the present.

Had he wanted to talk to Joey? Atem would have only seen Yugi carried away, unconscious, under the fumes and flames of a burning lighthouse in the middle of the night. Not even a goodbye.

And no news for over a week, except the arrival of Joey to collect his things.

Yugi felt raw tears coming up the back of this throat. “He must think I’m dead,” he whispered, and he thought he might just die right there at the thought of Atem, alone out there, grieving, mistakenly thinking he’d killed Yugi. Another person spared the Crawford’s cruel tyranny over the Sound, but still building on Atem’s own ominous legacy at the lighthouse.

“I sure as fuck felt like a graverobber,” Joey said, only half listening to Yugi. “Like I wasn’t supposed to take your things. So I just grabbed what I could and ran.”

They both stared at the backpack that Joey had dropped beside the coffee table.

“I have no idea how you did it,” Joey said after a long while, when the tea was cold enough to drink in one gulp. “Five minutes on my own and I was convinced I was going insane.”

Yugi wanted to tell him he wasn’t going insane. Wanted to explain there was a ghost, and he wasn’t something to fear, but Yugi was struggling to find his voice. And before he had a chance, Joey was on his feet, ready to leave this conversation behind him.

“Forget I said anything. I can’t believe I let the stories get to me.” He was halfway to the door before he finally looked Yugi in the eye. “Promise you won’t tell anyone, I’ll never live it down. I swore I’d never become one of those superstitious old guys. Mai’s got enough of those sorts to deal with.”

Yugi barely managed to nod before Joey retreated, leaving him alone on the couch.

He pulled the backpack onto his lap, and opened it up.

All it had was his wallet, a bricked phone, and the lantern. 

*

Atem wasn’t here, but Yugi felt like he was suffocating under the mere thought of him. The knowledge that he was grieving unnecessarily. Every day Atem’s name was constantly on the tip of Yugi’s tongue, like some private prayer, but he would only speak aloud a plea for Joey to bring him back to the lighthouse.

Joey, meanwhile, seemed to have developed an acute sixth sense for any time Yugi might bring up his ghostly encounter or Crawford Sound, gracelessly excusing himself from entire conversations and rooms.

As Joey’s poorly hidden anxiety grew in intensity as his next supply run drew closer, Yugi grew more determined than ever to be on that next flight to the Sound.

He tried to patiently pass the week resting and recuperating, and when boredom took hold he started visiting the library around the corner. Yugi poured over books and newspapers and the internet for the history of the Crawfords, and the lighthouse, and any scant scraps of references to a young Pasha who died far from home.

Yugi could have swallowed every written instance of Atem’s name like a tonic. Definitive proof that Atem had been a real person. Something to hold on to in the absence of the ghost.

And the Crawford’s, Yugi discovered, did in fact live unnaturally long lives, into their hundreds, but only ever with one son to pass down their coveted title. And there was a litany of lawsuits against them and their deadly lighthouse. No matter how damning the evidence, they always weaseled out of a guilty verdict, and another keeper would inevitably be called up to go to the lighthouse.

And Joey was right. Yugi couldn’t find a single reference to any surviving keeper. Mostly drownings and suicides. But enough grisly deaths, minds crushed and bodies snapped under the weight of Atem’s anger, to solidify the lighthouse’s reputation as something truly sinister.

That knowledge was its own sort of fuel, feeding a certainty Yugi had never felt before in his life.

He knew now, that if he did only two things in his life, the first would be to see Atem again. The second would be to put a stop to the tragedies that plagued the Sound. How either of those might work out, he had no idea, but he knew he had to go back to the Sound to do it.

And he needed Joey to bring him there.

By Saturday afternoon, the day before Joey’s next supply run to Pegasus, Yugi was seriously contemplating stowing away in the back of the plane. But today Joey was doing maintenance, and Yugi was back in the library, staring at a computer screen. He’d found a scan of a black and white daguerreotype. It featured a trio of men, dressed resplendently, two of them in fine suits and the other in elegant robes, and the tiny faded writing underneath read only _Vicomte de Lesseps, Paris, May 26 th, 1846_. The other two figures were unnamed, but unmistakably Atem and his uncle, both wearing serious expressions.

Yugi was about to pay the fifty cents to print it out on the library printer, when, unexpectedly, he heard Joey call his name.

“There you are!” He was looking relieved, and smiling for the first time in days. “Feeling up to a night out?” he asked, like he hadn’t been trying to avoid Yugi all week. Without waiting he went on. “Mai’s got a band playing tonight, and everyone’s gonna be there. She said— what are you looking at?”

Yugi gave one last look to the photo before closing the webpage. He’d see the real thing soon enough. “It’s nothing. What’s happening tonight?”

“It’s gonna be a great time. She’s always looking for good live music. You know, to change it up from just Herb and the guys shooting shit at the bar.”

Yugi liked the way Joey talked about everyone as if he already knew who was who. Like everything in this tight-knit place was simply a fact of life, and none of it needed explaining.

And although it went unsaid, Yugi suspected Joey was intent on surrounding himself with as many familiar, living people as possible to help him forget his _inexplicable, unliving_ encounter before his next trip out to the Sound.

“It sounds fun,” Yugi said sincerely. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a pub or a concert.

And anything that might convince Joey he was fit to fly was worth it.

*

The _Harpy’s Bottle_ was packed, by Hawkins Harbour standards, and Yugi found the dim interior to be more inviting than it looked from the outside. There was rock music playing over speakers in corners, not so loud as to make talking difficult, and groups of laughing people, even some families with kids, were clustered around tables or crowded into booths.

Part of what made it welcoming was the fact that Joey knew _everyone_. He stopped at the entrance to share a casual drag of someone’s cigarette, slapped broad shoulders and shouted names before he even had to see a face, and greeted any woman older than himself like he was saying hello to his grandmother. And through this flurry of people, he worked hard to make sure Yugi was introduced and whisked away before anyone had a chance to so much as mention the lighthouse.

Most people wasted the precious seconds Joey allotted them just staring at Yugi. He’d come dressed in the black shirt and pants Anzu had bought him, and heavy liner graced his eyes. He hadn’t worn any since he’d left Domino, but a tube had been tucked in with the toothpaste and soap Anzu had picked up for him, and though some people gaped, Yugi felt like himself.

Joey only stopped rushing Yugi around when they made it to the bar where a leggy blonde was serving drinks.

“Hey, hon,” she winked at Joey, and her bright eyes slid over to Yugi. “And _you_ must be the infamous Yugi Mutou.”

“Hi,” Yugi said, not sure what to say to that, and she threw back her head in laughter.

“You really aren’t what you’d expect!” Instead of saying anything about what she might have actually expected, she introduced herself as Mai. She was equally infamous in Yugi’s mind based on how often Joey mentioned her, though he was now mute in her presence. Mai wasn’t bothered by it, and without waiting poured two beers. She stopped Yugi when he reached for his wallet. “On the house, sweetie. Anyone who survives the Crawford Sound lighthouse probably needs a drink.” She said the name _Crawford_ with such intense disdain Yugi had to grin.

“You must hear a lot about the place.”

“You have no idea. Herb will probably show up later, brace yourself.” She pushed the second drink over to Joey. “Your sister’s got a table in the back. Why don’t you go sit down. Music'll start soon.”

Yugi couldn’t resist elbowing Joey once they’d stepped away from the bar. “She seems cool.”

“She’s the best,” Joey said, a little dazed.

They found Joey’s sister, Serenity, sitting in a booth. Lanky like her brother, but nowhere near as tall, she had her red hair swept back into a ponytail and a half-finished beer in front of her. Her nose however was buried in her phone, busily texting someone. She didn’t look up as Joey slid in, only mumbling an indifferent “hey”. But when Yugi took a seat across from her she tore her eyes away from the screen.

“Hey—” she started, then her eyes went wide. “It’s _you!_ ”

“Seriously, what have you been _telling_ people about me?” he asked Joey.

Joey seemed to have recovered from his non-conversation with Mai and he knocked his glass against Yugi’s. “Only the truth! Cheers!”

Serenity was leaning across the table to fix Yugi with an intense stare. “No, Joey’s such a scaredy cat, he won’t tell me anything. I heard the ghost tried to drown you—”

Joey’s hand clamped over her face to stop her talking, and there was a brief spat of flapping hands around _ugh you’re such a baby_ and _I told you not to bring it up_ before Yugi decided to jump in.

“That didn’t happen at all—”

“That’s right,” Joey said almost feverishly. “There’s no ghosts, and we’re not talking about them. We’re just here to talk about _normal things_ tonight.”

Serenity stuck her tongue out at him, and turned back to Yugi. “They finished repairing the lighthouse—”

“Where’d you hear that?” Joey said peevishly.

“From _Honda_ , duh.” She was still clutching her phone in her hands.

“Geez, you’d think he’d be better about texting back his _best friend_.” Joey griped as he pulled out his own phone to check for messages, only to find there were none.

Serenity leaned closer to Yugi, voice suddenly soft. “The coast guard is taking over the lighthouse until Mr. Crawford finds a replacement for you. Tell me the truth. Is Honda in danger? He’s not staying on the island or anything, just going over to turn the light on and off. He’ll be okay, right?”

Yugi’s relief at hearing the construction was done was gone just as quickly with the news that someone else was still there, puttering back and forth from ship to shore.

“The… island is fine,” he started, and Serenity relaxed back into her seat. “It’s the Sound that’s dangerous.”

Neither Joey nor his sister seemed bothered by that revelation.

“Well yeah, everyone knows the water there is insane. Low tide around those rocks? Tough for anyone to handle,” Serenity said, and Joey made some kind of noise of agreement as he took a swig of his beer. “Honda’s an expert. Seriously, he’s the best in the regatta.”

Yugi could practically see the stars in her eyes, and yeah, he totally understood where she was coming from. Honda, from Yugi’s own limited experience, was a bastion of competence, primed to help as he and his crew scoured the coastline for trouble.

“The water won’t be a problem for him,” she said, leaving no room for argument. “I just… I don’t want to have to worry about him out there at the lighthouse.” She was looking back at her phone again.

Joey set his drink down heavily and muttered something that sounded like _Honda better watch out or_ I’ll _be his problem._

Yugi would have laughed if his stomach wasn’t twisted into knots. “You don’t have to worry about him at the lighthouse,” he said again, trying to convince himself as much as his companions. “Is Pegasus coming back with you tomorrow then, since everything’s fixed?”

Joey shrugged. “No idea. I’m taking out the scheduled delivery, but he was looking _really_ sick last week when I dropped things off. I told him he should come back to see a doctor or something, but what do I know,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“He’s getting worse?” Yugi asked.

“Yeah, he looked like shit. Honestly, with all that money you’d think he’d pick somewhere nicer to sit around and waste away. Actually see a doctor or something.”

“Ugh, who cares about him,” Serenity was typing out a message, mostly pink hearts from what Yugi could see.

But Yugi was thinking more about Pegasus. Was he getting sick because the Crawfords weren’t making enough or the right offerings to Slipher– a sort of curse? Or was he already sick and somehow using others’ lives to artificially extend his own?

Atem would maybe know. Or maybe it didn’t matter. In any case, Pegasus was counting on someone dying for his own gain, like his family had been doing for generations.

“You know, I’m going with your brother to Crawford Sound tomorrow,” Yugi told Serenity, without so much as a sideways glance at Joey. “Honda doesn’t need to stick around there. I’m going back to the lighthouse.”

Joey nearly fell out of his seat. “Like hell you are! You’re _barely_ standing. Look, if I even touch your side you’ll be wheezing—”

But Serenity shoved Joey’s hands back, and reached out to clutch Yugi’s between her own. “Oh, thank you, you’re _amazing_. I’ll text Honda that he’s only got to do the one night. He’ll be _so_ relieved.”

Joey was still sputtering, torn three ways between taking care of Yugi, and making his sister happy, and sparing Honda the unwelcome hardship of the lighthouse that _definitely wasn’t haunted_.

Except the music started up, and he didn’t get the chance to voice his decision, if he made one.

Yugi counted it as a victory, and began counting the minutes until he would see Atem again.

*

When Joey’s alarm went off at seven in the morning, Yugi had already been up for an hour.

He had stuffed his few belongings into the backpack that had only just returned from the lighthouse. How long would he actually stay with Atem? Would Joey _let_ him stay in Crawford Sound? It was difficult to imagine the pilot, after last weekend, being nonchalant about flying away with Yugi still on the island.

It was easier to imagine Joey punching him and bringing him back to Hawkins Harbour unconscious a second time. But when Yugi stepped into the kitchen, filled with the smell of fresh coffee, Joey only gave him a weary look.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m going.”

Joey leaned against the counter, scowling. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with going back. You’re barely two weeks into recovering. Just relax, okay? Send an email resigning to Mr. Crawford’s office like a normal person and be done. I know Serenity’s worried about Honda, but I’m way less worried about him than _you_.”

“Can you trust me, Joey? I really need to talk to Pegasus. …And I don’t like the way I left the lighthouse. I need to go back and…”

“Get closure?” Joey suggested.

That wasn’t quite what Yugi had in mind, but he wasn’t sure how to articulate what he _did_ want. Didn’t even know what _was_ possible, when it came to Atem.

Yugi said nothing, but something in his eyes made Joey sigh loudly. “God, _fine_. You can come for the day. You’re not staying though, for fuck’s sake, so whatever you’ve got in your bag, leave it here.”

*

Yugi’s backpack was still crammed full. It was cold enough that he expected he’d want the bulky sweater and sweatpants, and he'd also snagged a fistful of protein bars from Joey’s cupboards _just in case_. The lantern was clipped to the outside of the bag. It rattled a little from where it sat between Yugi’s feet in the footwell of Joey’s truck.

Flecks of rain were hitting the windshield, and there wasn’t much conversation between them. Joey was suffering through a mild hangover from the previous night, and Yugi’s thoughts were lightyears ahead, in the Sound already.

“I’ve gotta load the cargo,” Joey said as he parked. “Probably better for you to sit tight in the office until I’m ready to go.”

“Promise you won’t take off without me?” Yugi half-teased.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, you are so damn persistent. I’d probably come back to find you hijacked a plane or something.”

They were both laughing as Joey opened the door to the office building and Yugi stepped in behind him. But they were shushed immediately by a group of people crowded around the reception desk.

The radio receiver in the wall was lit up, and someone was talking with a distressed urgency into the microphone.

“What’s going on?” Joey asked quietly, and someone else turned to him, wide eyed.

“Coast guard just called it in. Dinghy overturned in Sound on the way to the lighthouse this morning. Honda’s missing.”


	13. Chapter 13

“ _A murder-suicide was reported in Crawford Sound yesterday. Convicted felon Joel Peters, who had been working as the lighthouse keeper for three years, shot his assistant keeper then himself. Liquor mainly responsible for the tragedy.”_ ~ The Harbour Times, December 31st, 1998

*

“…Honda’s missing.”

Joey, like the others in the room, was rocked to the core by this news.

Yugi stood frozen, silent amidst the people barking search plans. He knew without a doubt that it was already too late. This was what Pegasus had been out there waiting for. Just one person to fall in.

But no one else shared Yugi’s dire knowledge. Someone was calling over the radio for additional help. Any extra eyes that could help scour the maze of rocks in Crawford Sound, and Joey was the first to volunteer.

“It’s probably best if you stay here,” he said grimly.

“No, I’ll go with you.” There was no chance Yugi would stay here. Not when Atem was there alone, having likely witnessed yet another tragedy in the Sound. Not if he could talk Pegasus out of ever letting this happen again.

Yugi’s words prompted someone to look around Joey to see who else would be going out to the Sound. “Wait, you’re the wickie, right?”

And suddenly there were many eyes on Yugi. The room was filled with a quiet and uncertain regard for the only lighthouse keeper to leave Crawford Sound alive.

“We still need someone to search the island,” the woman operating the radio said, breaking the silence. “If he’s willing to go back, he’s probably the best person for it.”

“I’ll do it,” Yugi said without even a flicker of hesitation.

Joey obviously hated this idea, but the urgency of getting in the air and out to search took precedence. “…You sure you’re up for this? It’s gonna be a long day.” Yugi’s last chance to back out.

“Yeah, I can handle it. Let’s go.”

Joey nodded, expression clouded, and without wasting time to load the cargo for Pegasus, they hurried to the plane.

*

The flight to Crawford Sound was a dismal excursion.

Joey’s gloved hands were clenched tight around the yoke, peeling off only occasionally to adjust a dial or flip a switch. This was merely the latest in a long history of searches in the Sound, and despite the urgency, there was an undercurrent of hopelessness. And Yugi wisely kept his own thoughts to himself. This wasn’t the time to bring up ghosts or sea serpents or _human sacrifices_.

Meanwhile Joey’s phone was lighting up with messages from Serenity.

“Do you want me to reply to her for you?” Yugi asked.

Joey gave him a tortured look. “Not yet. Let’s see what we can find first.”

Yugi almost voiced a falsely optimistic hope that maybe it would be like Ryou and Malik. That Honda would be found up on the rocks, washed there by high tide, safe out of the water. Bruised but otherwise okay.

But that had been an August storm. Warmer water. A lucky break, for a lucky new lighthouse keeper.

And as the story came over the radio, it was clear there was nothing the same about this time.

Honda had gone out to the island early in the morning to turn off the light, arriving on the island without incident. But on his way out, when the tide had ebbed to its lowest point, someone watching from the ship had seen it happen. The orange inflatable boat flipped between the rocks. The water was calm, and it was hard to say what exactly had caused it, but the cause wasn’t important, because Honda didn’t surface immediately. They rushed to help, only to reach the overturned dinghy and find there was no sign of Honda in the water.

He had been wearing a life vest, but any number of things could have happened. The fierce currents could have dragged him down between the rocks. And getting knocked unconscious in cold water meant the chances of survival dropped drastically with each minute.

Joey and Yugi listened to all this in sickened silence.

Every second of the forty-minute flight out to the Sound felt like an hour. And as they neared Crawford Sound, Yugi realised, with a rising nausea, that the search being coordinated over the radio had already shifted from a rescue mission to a recovery. There was no hope of finding Honda alive, but they would continue to search for anything they could bring home.

Yugi knew, too, that they would find nothing. Slipher would have been waiting in his hiding place beneath the waves.

The sinking feeling in him deepened even more when they finally passed through the low clouds, and the Sound came into view. Yugi hadn’t noticed it on his first flight here, but it was obvious this time. As they descended, certain instruments on the dash dimmed and gauges went dead. Voices on the headset picked up more static.

Joey shivered as if they’d passed an invisible barrier.

This was the Shadow Zone that surrounded Slipher’s domain. Something in the physical world that echoed the darkness that cursed Atem.

And Yugi, who had been keenly waiting for the lighthouse to come into view, understood why Joey and all the others were now even more reluctant to go to the island. It was encased entirely in a fog so thick even the tower was hidden from view.

A few boats were dotted around the Sound, carefully searching around the rocks for any sign of Honda.

Joey was able to land in an open stretch of water and motored the plane towards the boathouse at the foot of the island. He kept the propellers going, anxious to get back in the air, but he grabbed Yugi’s shoulder to keep him there a moment longer.

“If you find anything, radio us. We’re all on channel 24,” Joey instructed as Yugi opened the door. “I’ll be doing a grid search overhead.” When Yugi nodded he added, “Since I didn’t bring Mr. Crawford’s delivery today, he’ll probably come back with us later. He can sit tight til we’re done though. I’ll come get you first, alright?”

Yugi nodded again, but before he could slip out the door Joey had one last thing to say. “Also… I’d… it’d be good if you could meet me down here. I’m sure you can take care of yourself, so…” He was obviously hoping to stick to his oath of never setting foot on the island again.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll listen for you.”

With that Yugi grabbed his backpack and jumped out onto the dock.

He gave a cursory wave to Joey through the window once the door was shut, but didn’t stay to watch the plane take off. Instead he spun around to make his way up the stairs.

As he walked into the wall of fog he found that, like Joey had said earlier in the week, the air _did_ feel different. It was much colder than a few weeks ago, but this wasn’t just the changing of seasons.

More like all the smoke and shadows that manifested in Atem were now draped over the entire island.

*

Everyone else in the Sound was searching for Honda, but the first word out of Yugi’s mouth was “ _Atem_!”

The eerily familiar air offered nothing but a faint echo. No shifting gravity, or sensation of the ghost coming up beside him. Nothing but fog and clouds, heavy with the threat of rain.

Yugi first poked his head in the broken door of the dilapidated fuel house. The roof had almost fully collapsed, and he only gave it a cursory look. Atem wasn’t there.

He kept going along the path, up to the keeper’s quarters. Joey had encountered him there the last time he’d been here, and Yugi’s heart clenched at the thought of Atem by the window, now watching the frantic search happening in the Sound below.

Atem would have been the last one to see Honda alive, walking up and down to the tower this morning. Honda, methodical and diligent, would likely not have even bothered to glance at the house. But Yugi peered in the darkened window.

He couldn’t make out anything. And if Atem was there, he did not come through the wall to greet him.

The absence of the ghost, more than anything, made Yugi’s spine tingle. He could still see all those shared memories of past keepers. All the deaths Atem had witnessed on and around the island. If he’d witnessed Honda’s accident he might not be in the _here_ and _now_. Might be caught up in some distant shadow. Lost and formless within the somber air that now surrounded everything.

Yugi was here though. He could find a way to bring him back to the present.

He pressed down the latch for the front door, and, finding it unlocked, stepped into the dark interior.

*

It was pitch black. The dampness Yugi had spent so often trying to chase out had settled into the space while he’d been gone. He was half tempted to go straight to the furnace, but he palmed the light switch in the wall.

The lights did not come on.

No matter. He knew his way around this place.

Except the first step he took collided with something wooden, sending it clattering into the room. His breath caught in his throat. He had walked through this room in the middle of the night countless times. But something had changed. Yugi reached around to unclip the lantern from his backpack, and flipped it on.

And _oh_.

He almost wished he’d left it off.

The place was wrecked. Furniture overturned, splintered into broken pieces. Wallpaper stripped off in shreds.

A furious, harrowing, ransacking had ravaged the house.

“Atem?” Yugi whispered, as he walked further into the room. “I’m back. Where are you?”

There was no answer.

If Atem was _here_ in this space, it wasn’t _now_.

Yugi tried to set one of the chairs upright, but found two of the legs had been broken. He leaned it against the wall, and left the others where they lay smashed on the ground.

In the bathroom the shower curtain had been ripped down. The mirror above the sink was shattered.

Yugi looked into it, but his own eyes were all that looked back.

He checked both bedrooms upstairs. One had been ignored, but the other, the one Yugi had used, was a stark contrast from the disaster downstairs. His things had been tidily packed inside his two suitcases and tucked into the small closet. The bed neatly made.

Yugi smoothed his hand over the wool blanket, almost expecting to feel something invisible lying there in the bed. He could clearly remember the feeling of Atem’s solid form in his arms, the rest of him infinitely far away, while Yugi desperately tried to pull him out of his memories and back to the present. Could still distantly feel how Atem’s hands had clutched at him, trying to escape the darkness that had overtaken their shared mind.

How the shadows had swelled until it overtook both of them.

There was nothing in the bed now.

He’d been so certain Atem would be in the room that Yugi was at a loss as he went back downstairs. Almost out of habit he went to the furnace. The place was unnerving in its disarray, forlorn without the warmth of firelight, or the company of a ghost.

He opened up the grate to shovel in some coal, and was surprised to see there was something inside.

A logbook, sooty and crumpled but unburnt, had been crammed inside.

Yugi gingerly pulled it out and dusted it off. And opening it up, he saw it was the most recent book, with his own entries scrawled in the pages. The season had now shifted into October, but the last date was for mid-September, the entry Yugi had written before that fateful night lost in Atem’s memories.

Yugi’s eyes landed on where he had underlined Atem’s name. He touched the ink, lost in thought until he realised there were other words on the page. He tilted the page toward the lantern to see better.

There was unfamiliar handwriting in the margins. Short snippets of incomplete thoughts, like poetry, in tiny, flowing script.

_in the silence at your side_

_a fire that draws us close_

_I drift_

_and only you can call me_

Yugi’s heart stuttered as he soaked in the words.

“Oh, Atem,” he mourned. He turned the page, and there was more. Lines of Arabic and French that Yugi couldn’t read, but another passage of English was scrawled underneath.

_Who can cut through my shadow and_

_Release me from my torment_

Atem might not be here right now, but he’d certainly been here in the two weeks Yugi had been gone. Moved enough by Yugi’s departure to use ink and paper to immortalize these few words.

Yugi left the logbook on a shelf, and abandoned the furnace to hurry out of the house. There was still another place to check.

The lighthouse was gleaming white, though the top of it was obscured. Inside was cool and dark like the house had been. And just as empty of the ghost’s presence.

As Yugi wound his way up the spiral stairs, there was the scent of paint masking the smell of something charred. When he looked up, steel bars had replaced many of the old wooden beams that had previously supported the floor of the watch room.

And in the watch room itself he found that the bookshelf and all its contents were gone. Burned up in the fire Atem had ignited to signal for help. A new control panel had been installed, and well-insulated cabling led to the brand new beacon and generator in the lightroom above, and to the foghorn below. The windows all around had been replaced with fresh panels of glass, but there was nothing to see outside but dreary gray.

It was very similar to the place Yugi had come to know very well, but without Atem it felt foreign.

Yugi pressed the button for the fog horn. It started up after a moment, and he knew it wasn’t the ghost, but it felt like Atem was speaking to him.

*

There were no other buildings on the island. If Atem wasn’t here, in his usual haunts or following watchfully behind Yugi, he must be further away.

Too far from _here_ and _now_ to hear Yugi’s voice or walk these paths.

Yugi was making an uncertain path back to the house when a drone filled the air – the sound of Joey passing low and slow overhead. The plane was invisible through the haze, but the sound was even more deafening than the foghorn.

A stark reminder of the _other_ search going on. Yugi clipped the lantern, still emitting a blurred halo of light in the fog, onto his pack once again, adjusted the straps, and set forth to do his part.

It wasn’t a reassuring thought, to search knowing that Honda would never be found, but at least Honda would never be _lost_ like Atem.

Most of the island dropped steeply into the water, and Yugi began a careful circuit along the upper edges of the bluffs. There were no paths, just uneven stone and bramble that snagged at his sleeves and pants. Muddy puddles that soaked his shoes and socks. He trekked along, occasionally peering over plunging heights to the rushing waves below, until he reached the far, untouched shore of the island.

It sloped deeply into the water. Waves rolled up and over a mix of red and gray rocks, and the fog was even heavier here. As though the wind and waves conspired together to cage it in against this forgotten shore.

Yugi went only as far down as he dared, suddenly afraid. If someone were to wash up onto the island, this would be the only place it could happen. It was hard not to recall Atem’s memories, clinging to a shore in the dark, in a storm, dying.

But as he listened to the wind and the waves, it also made him think of the far-off ocean sounds that filled him when they touched.

It gave him the courage he needed to pick his way the rest of the way down. It wasn’t a big stretch of shore, nothing but a small inlet walled off by towering cliffs on each side. And there was certainly no beach, only weathered boulders and coarse rocks.

Yugi went along, careful not to slip, one end to the other, and saw nothing.

But the air was heaviest here. And it _sounded_ like Atem. Like this was the centre of the universe that trapped Atem’s soul.

His heart wouldn’t stop skipping as he crossed the expanse of rocks again. Back and forth, twice, thrice— no idea what he was looking for… until something caught the corner of his eye. Something reflecting the light of his lantern, a glint that wasn’t rust-red or gray-black.

It was something bright, pinched between two rocks well above the waterline.

Yugi scrambled over to look at it closely, and his heart went from skipping to _thundering_.

A golden ring.

It was wedged tight, deep between two large rocks, and it took several minutes of struggling to pry it out.

He could hardly think straight as he rubbed grit off of it. It was deeply scratched, but still exquisite. An ornate gold band with space for three jewels though the rubies were long gone.

Rubies, of course, because Yugi could picture it clearly on Atem’s left hand, slotted onto his middle finger between several others.

Yugi tested it on his own. It was a little too big, so he hooked it over his right thumb, and folded his fingers gently over top of it to keep it from slipping off.

He held it tightly, and cast his eyes around, desperately wondering how to _bring him_ back. His heart kept hammering away. And his head could only think _Atem Atem Atem_ , so he tried to shout his name into the wind.

His voice didn’t cooperate. It came out only as a choked whisper.

Except it was enough.

The glow of the lantern hanging from his pack.

The pulse in his thumb, warming the ring.

And Atem’s name, soft on Yugi’s lips. The final waypoint in a path leading back to _here_ and _now_.

Yugi felt it before he saw it. Gravity pulling together.

A hand closed over Yugi’s, painfully tight, but he hardly noticed. Because where a moment before had been nothing but the dire gray of the sea and the sky, now there was Atem, a flood of colour before Yugi’s wide eyes.

Atem, just the way Yugi knew him. All warm-tones; brown skin and red eyes and a crown of black hair and blond bangs. Wrapped in his thick navy cloak. And wearing a look of absolutely wretched shock.

Atem couldn’t seem to move, but Yugi could. All he felt was relief. He threw his free arm around Atem’s neck, pulled him close.

“I’m here, I’m back, Atem.”

A heartbeat later, Atem’s arms were around Yugi too, both hands grabbing at Yugi’s back with the desperation of a drowning man.

Yugi held on too.

“I missed you, I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, I didn’t know if you were okay—”

Atem cut him off, pressed his forehead to Yugi’s, eyes pinched shut in focus, like holding onto a dream while waking.

And Yugi could hear the ocean, and feel the press of shadows into the space in his mind. Just a touch, enough for Atem to remain standing in his solid form before him, while he borrowed Yugi’s voice.

“I thought I killed you. You wouldn’t wake up.” It was Atem’s words coming out of Yugi, laced with grief.

“No, you called for help. I’m okay,” Yugi said, dizzied by the sensation of speaking for both of them as they both tried to talk over each other.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“I’m back, everything’s alright—"

Joey’s plane made another pass overhead, interrupting the words fumbling out of Yugi, and they both looked up. The fog was lifting, and a glimmer of white flashed above them.

Yugi stiffened in Atem’s arms, because he’d forgotten for a moment that everything _wasn’t_ alright. “They’re searching for Honda. That coast guard officer.” Yugi was already pretty sure of the answer, but he asked it anyway. “…Did you see… Was it Slipher?”

Atem’s fingers dug in painfully. Yugi winced, and smoothed his hands over his shoulders to soothe him, keep him _here_.

“Atem, look at me.” Atem’s eyes instantly went from the cloudy sky to Yugi’s clear gaze. “The Crawford’s graves are behind their house,” he said steadily, trying not to give Atem’s resentment a chance to pull him away. “They think it’s other people that have to go to Slipher. I think I can talk to Pegasus. Tell him how to do this properly. So no one _else_ gets hurt.”

Atem didn’t like that idea at all. He crowded back in.

“No, Yugi.” The words passed softly between them. “What if he hurts you?”

Yugi wasn’t afraid. He’d discovered a fountain of courage since coming here. Since meeting Atem. He wanted to lean closer, but he pulled back enough to look Atem squarely in the eyes.

“Come with me, then.”

Confusion flitted across the ghost’s face, until Yugi held up his open hand, with Atem’s ring loose around his thumb.

“I found this. It’s yours, right? Do you think if I carry it with me, you can leave the island?”

Atem stared, transfixed, at the battered ring on Yugi’s hand, then released Yugi to look at the matching one, gleaming like new, on his left hand.

Something like hope lit up his face, and he pulled Yugi back in once again, shaking with silent laughter or tears as he buried his face in Yugi’s neck.

“Perhaps,” Yugi’s lips said. _Perhaps_ sounded like a prayer. Unimagined hope. “But it’s not just stopping _him_ ,” Atem cautioned, careful not to speak the Crawford’s name. “It’s not just stopping this from continuing. The bodies owed must all be returned. Slipher cannot be cheated.”

“Then we do that too. We’ll fix this.” Yugi rested his head against Atem’s shoulder. “We’ll do it together.”

It wasn’t a perfect solution. They might be able to convince Pegasus to stop this pointlessly deadly cycle, spare anyone else from dying in the Sound. Move those graves to the water.

But Yugi didn’t know how to bring Atem the peace he deserved _._

Atem didn’t seem to care. His grip remained crushing as he nodded, lips moving against Yugi’s ear, as the words came out from Yugi to land warm against Atem’s neck.

“Whatever needs to be done. If you leave, please just take me from here. If I can go.”

His plea filled Yugi with determination.

“We’re going to leave, Atem. And I’ll keep you with me.”

*

Atem stayed as he was, left hand solid and holding tightly to Yugi’s while his feet and cloak passed unobstructed through the bramble on the way back to the keepers’ quarters.

He had eyes only for Yugi, until they entered through the door. His gaze swept the wreckage in the room.

“Was this… after Joey came by?” Yugi asked, squeezing his hand. The ghost looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I wanted to come back with him that time. I didn’t think about how it would look to you, Joey coming to get my things.”

When Atem said nothing, Yugi bumped his shoulder. “Though you gave him quite a fright.”

Atem didn’t return the teasing look. Just held on tighter.

“I don’t know how long he’ll keep searching for Honda,” Yugi went on, face falling. “I… assumed it was Slipher, but I didn’t know how to tell anyone. It didn’t seem right to say it was too late.” He stared as Atem’s thumb stroked the back of his hand. “It’s never going to happen again though.”

They stood in the dark room for a long moment, Atem seemingly content to simply be there, holding Yugi’s hand.

Yugi hated to break the silence. “Do you mind… if I clean up a bit while we wait? It’s pretty chilly, I’d like to start the furnace.”

There was no disagreement, just a little reluctance as Atem let go. He drifted through the room, picking up the debris of his grief-stricken wrath, while Yugi started the furnace. He said nothing about the logbook he’d found inside, or the words Atem had left behind. They were something private, and painful.

As he stood before the furnace, waiting for the heat to reach his hands, Atem draped a blanket over his shoulders. And when Yugi leaned back, he found a solid presence behind him. Atem brought an arm around to hold him there, and Yugi shivered when lips pressed against the nape of his neck.

“Thank you for coming back,” Atem said through him, voice coming out rough. “I thought I could continue to endure, but when they had to take you away from here…when I thought I had…”

Atem was not one for many words, and these ones would not come easily. Yugi turned, let his warm breath fill the scant space between them. They were nearly the same height, and Atem’s eyes were like hot coals, reflecting the light of the fire. Yugi pressed even closer, and Atem made no move except to tighten his hold around Yugi’s waist.

“I’m not so easy to break,” Yugi whispered, and it was a little exciting to know it was true. “And next time I go, you won’t be left behind. I won’t leave you here alone.”

He could feel Atem shaking, and Yugi wasn’t sure if he was struggling to stay _here_ , or if it was disbelief. So Yugi closed the last hair’s-breadth of space between them, a brush of lips against Atem’s.

And he knew Atem couldn’t really feel this, not truly, not as a ghost. But it didn’t seem to matter. Because Atem’s trembling hands, both of them, were on his hips, grip like a vice, and he opened his mouth against Yugi’s, just as hungry to be close. Like Atem was trying to possess him a different way. Instead of filling up the space around his heart, he was chasing the warmth of Yugi’s skin, the heat of his mouth.

Atem’s skin was cold, but Yugi was _burning through_ , and he slid a hand into Atem’s hair, fisting the other in his cowl. And Atem was swallowing up his sighs only to press them back into Yugi’s skin with his lips.

“Yugi.” It was surreal, Atem making a noise low in Yugi’s throat, as he kissed down Yugi’s neck at the same time. “I’ll go with you. As far as I can. For as long as you will have me.”

Yugi wanted to reply, but Atem was taking over, a shadow sinking in under his skin. For a second Yugi felt like he was falling, about to be swept into some distant memory, but he jerked, like the sudden kick of waking from a shallow dream.

Atem had figured out how to hold onto Yugi’s heart as well. To keep him here in the present, the same as Yugi did for him.

And Yugi was standing alone in front of the furnace, two souls in one body. Even more intimate than being side by side, because this way Atem could feel the rush of Yugi’s pulse, the swooping leap of his heart, the hot blush on his cheeks, and Yugi was happy to share—

It lasted for only a second.

Atem seemed to notice something was wrong. He dropped the blanket from their shoulders, and yanked up the hem of Yugi’s shirt to look at his chest. Though well on the way to healing, they were still bruised and tender, and Atem, with Yugi’s hand, pressed tentatively against his ribs.

Yugi, not even in control of his own body, could distantly feel the dull throb of pain.

Atem threw himself out of the space around Yugi’s heart.

The abrupt shift back to the forefront caught Yugi off guard. He stumbled, almost into the hot furnace, but Atem hadn’t gone far. He caught Yugi by his shoulders.

“Atem, what—” Yugi gasped, as he tried to find his footing. And then he saw Atem’s pained expression.

There was no trace of him in Yugi’s head, but his eyes clearly said everything.

“Ah, well, it was worth it to get to know you better?” he tried. And it was true. His ribs still hurt, but he would have still agreed to that dark foray into Atem’s memories even now knowing what the impact would be. And he would do it again, without question.

Atem’s lips pressed into a displeased line.

Even looking like that, Yugi wanted to kiss the ghost again. However the moment had clearly been spoiled for Atem. He released Yugi, leaving him to stand on his own. But Atem wasn’t going anywhere; he picked up the blanket he’d just discarded and shook it out.

“I still have a lot of questions,” Yugi said, watching as he laid it on the floor. When Atem gestured for him to sit, Yugi instead grabbed his hand, and only when Atem let their fingers twine together did he continue.

“Slipher didn’t get you, so why did Cyndia get better?” Yugi asked. He held on tightly, still wary about talking about the Crawfords when he’d only just recently managed to find Atem again. “…Did you know? I looked it up while I was in town. She recovered, from whatever it was. Lived to be over a hundred. And all the Crawford’s since have too. Though Pegasus didn’t look to be doing so well when I saw him.”

Atem couldn’t reply as they were, but his expression was thoughtful, as he let himself be pulled down to sit with Yugi. He may have been quick to vacate Yugi’s body, but he still curled in close. Yugi facing the furnace, and Atem sitting right behind, legs splayed out on either side of him. He wrapped one arm gently across Yugi’s chest, and bowed his face against Yugi’s shoulder.

As Yugi sank back into that embrace, he distantly noticed that he couldn’t hear the ocean when Atem touched him anymore. The ring on his thumb looked molten in the light of the furnace as Yugi twisted it absently. It had been a fleeting spark of inspiration, that he could carry this away, and bring Atem with it. A baseless idea. But this was promising; moving it away from the water meant he could no longer hear the sounds of that rough shore echoing through Atem.

Instead there was a calm, warm silence. The quiet comfort of this room, amplified.

And that serenity spread through his mind, as shadows crept, tentative and shallow, around his heart. Atem cautiously looking to speak.

Yugi surrendered his lungs and lips to this shallow connection. The heavy exhale he released wasn’t his own, but he could still feel Atem, solid and unmoving, holding him.

“I cannot say I understand the way of a god,” Atem said. “But it’s the heart of the matter. His ask of Slipher, for his wife, was sincere.” He was still careful not to say the Crawford name, but he held onto Yugi all the same, an anchor. “Since then, however… What they have been doing is not anything my mother’s people would have ever done. I was always told life, as little or as long as it was, was a gift enough. But they have been able to buy their time with the lives of others.”

Yugi rested against him, hand over Atem’s, and patiently said nothing.

“If they have been buried, then Slipher may come to demand _more_ as time goes on. I often suspected they started sending pairs here to increase the odds, or frequency of their offerings to him.” Yugi felt his mouth twist into a frown. “I did what I could to prevent others from going into the water. But the bones of their family must all be returned. Otherwise Slipher will stay here, waiting.”

Yugi wondered about Atem’s side of things. Would this ring on Yugi’s thumb be enough to appease Slipher as well? Not bones, but maybe this one thing would be enough? Yugi wasn’t sure he’d be able to go through with it if that was even possible. To _choose_ to say goodbye to Atem when he wanted nothing more than to keep him close.

“I don’t think Pegasus will be very enthusiastic about uh, exhuming bodies,” Yugi said instead of voicing those thoughts. “But Joey is bringing him back today. Maybe we can stay behind, do it after he’s left.”

Atem pressed down gently over Yugi’s heart to feel his pulse. “Then we go tonight,” Yugi felt it jump, perhaps with Atem’s excitement at the idea of _leaving._ “We will do what is needed, and then deal with _him_ afterwards.”

The way Atem said they would _deal with_ Pegasus made Yugi suspect that they had very different ideas of what that might mean. It was hard enough to imagine chasing down the Earl in Hawkins Harbour, or Domino even, to confront him. But it seemed better to talk to the Earl _after_ offering up his family’s bones to Slipher. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

He was still thinking about this confrontation when he felt Atem tense around him. Shadows withdrew from Yugi’s heart as Atem raised his head to look towards the window. Yugi heard it too, a moment later. Joey’s plane growling through the air as it slowed to land.

Right. He would also have to tell Joey he was staying the night. Convince him to let Yugi stay in Crawford Sound, where Joey’s best friend had just _died_.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Yugi said. He stood, and grinned at Atem. “Just one more night, and then we’ll be out of here.”

Atem looked dazed, awed by the thought of _leaving_. And instead of taking Yugi’s offered hand, he reached up to touch Yugi’s cheek, and dragged him back down.

 _Thank you_ was whispered between them when Atem finally released an equally dazed Yugi.

*

Atem had made some effort to bundle Yugi up before letting him go into the cool air outside the house, but it all seemed unnecessary to Yugi. He was walking on clouds down to the boathouse. Atem was invisible as they made their way, his insubstantial hand around Yugi’s left, and that gold ring warm around Yugi’s right thumb.

The seaplane had already bumped gently up against the dock. Joey had cut the engine and opened the door, but did not step out. His expression was forlorn, face ruddy like he’s only recently wiped away tears.

“They’ve suspended the search,” he said, trying not to let his voice break. “You didn’t find anything, did you?”

Yugi felt Atem’s hand tighten around his. “I went down along the far shore. No sign of Honda.”

Joey scrubbed at his face. “Yeah, of course. It was stupid to think this time would be any different—” He stopped himself, and Yugi could practically _see_ the emotions being stuffed back down. “Let’s get out of here. You can have shotgun. I don’t want fucking _Mr. Crawford_ sitting beside me.”

Only then did Joey seem to look at Yugi properly. “…Where’s your stuff? Didn’t you grab the rest of your things?”

“I’m… actually, Joey, I’m staying. Until tomorrow, if you can come back then.”

Joey was speechless for a moment, on the verge of an explosive display of whatever he’d just worked so hard to bottle up.

Yugi hurried to give an excuse.

“I’m not done here. I’ll… I’ll take care of the light tonight. Tell the coast guard not to worry about it. And I’ll pay you for the flight, whatever it costs.”

Joey sputtered for a second before finding any words. “Like fucking _hell_ I’m leaving you here. Look, you get in the plane, and we’ll swing over to the other side to pick up that useless bastard, and get the fuck _out_ of here.”

Yugi shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet.” And he felt bad, because Joey was obviously distressed. He’d just lost Honda here, and asking him to leave Yugi behind was clearly beyond anything he could bear to do. “I’ll be fine for another night. Just… come back tomorrow morning. I promise, I’ll be ready then.”

Joey stared at him hard, and just when Yugi thought maybe he was going to give in, Joey leapt out of the plane. “Nope, no _fucking_ way. You’re coming back. The damn lighthouse doesn’t need you. Let the Coast Guard, or Mr. Crawford, or whoever figure it out.”

Before he could grab hold of Yugi to pull him to the plane, Atem materialized between them. His grip was fierce on Joey’s arm, red eyes blazing. And Atem was so much shorter than Joey, but his presence was indomitable, every inch of him filled with conviction.

Over Atem’s shoulder, Yugi could see Joey turn white—

And he flinched as Joey _screamed._

“Joey, it’s fine—” Yugi pulled Atem off him, and the ghost vanished just as quickly as he’d appeared. But Joey was still staring at the space Atem had occupied, and Yugi was worried the Coast Guard had heard his shriek carry over the water—

“Joey, seriously, calm down. It’s just one more night. I’m going to take care of some things here. What happened to Honda won’t happen again.”

Joey could scarcely move, like he’d been frozen in place by Atem’s cold hand.

Yugi tried to shake him. He was honestly afraid Joey might pass out right there, but Yugi’s touch seemed to snap him back to himself.

“Did you see that? Or am I fucking _losing my mind_?”

Yugi wasn’t sure what answer would let Joey sleep better at night. “Just go, and tell Pegasus to wait for me in Hawkins Harbour. I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

“I’m fucking losing it,” Joey said, decisively. But he didn’t try to pull Yugi back into the plane with him. He shuddered, head to toe, and retreated into the safety of the cockpit. “Tomorrow morning!” Joey shouted. His face and knuckles were white, and he was staring hard at the console, and the water, and anything except Yugi standing there on the dock. “Tomorrow! And don’t you fucking dare get into any weird shit. Zero trouble. None, you hear me?”

Yugi swallowed an awkward laugh. He could feel Atem in the air beside him. “I’ll be safe, promise.”

The engine roared to life, and the propellers kicked up a light spit of salt water.

This time Yugi watched the plane pull away to putter across the strait, keeping a slow, wide berth around any rocks.

“I think you’ve just scarred him for life.”

Atem was standing beside him, solid once again, and his hand found Yugi’s. There was something laughing in his eyes despite Yugi’s chiding.

“If he doesn’t come back tomorrow, it’s entirely your fault.”

But Atem didn’t share his concern. He shrugged, only a little apologetically, and lifted Yugi’s hand to look at the ring still on his thumb. Atem’s own fingers couldn’t seem to touch it, simply passing through it to Yugi’s skin.

Yugi would leave the island, with Joey or someone else, and Atem would go with him. And the promise of departing seemed more important than the precise _when_ or _how._

*

They walked, hand in hand, back up to the top of the cliffs. The weather was clearing, a blue sky peeking through clouds, and the afternoon sun was finally able to stretch out its rays. Yugi could see the glimmer of Joey’s plane, nothing but a white speck in the distance, pulling up to the far shore.

Yugi and Atem would cross the strait later, after Pegasus was gone and the beacon was lit. They would go to that grove, and return the bodies to Slipher.

Yugi tried not to think much about what that would exactly entail.

About what waited under the headstones. Or about Slipher waiting under the water.

Over the water came the faint roar of propellers as Joey finally took off. Yugi watched it vanish into the distance. And he continued to watch the sky until he was distracted by his grumbling stomach, and Atem’s following nudge.

“Just one more night,” Yugi smiled. The one Atem returned made his heart skip, and every part of him hoped he was right. That he could take Atem away from here this island, and leave the Sound in peace.

They would find out tonight. But first they returned to the house. Yugi fished out two protein bars from his backpack, and went to the kitchen. He found a few teabags scattered in the cupboard. October air was seeping through the window panes, and tea would help stave it off.

While he listened to the kettle heat up, he ate one of the bars, elbow to elbow with Atem. When he went to throw the wrapper in the bin under the sink, he paused. He’d found something a little more exciting than tea.

“Hey Atem,” Yugi laughed as he straightened. “I was never going to touch this, but I’d say our last night here calls for some kind of celebration.” He held up the dusty bottle of Herb’s home-brewed moonshine.

Atem gave it a fleeting look of disgust, and Yugi hesitated.

“Is it really that bad? Even just for a toast?”

His shrug clearly said _It’s up to you._

Atem wouldn’t be able to drink it in any case, but Yugi grabbed two mismatched mugs and brought them along with the bottle to their makeshift picnic in front of the furnace.

They sat together, side by side this time. Yugi cross legged, while Atem had his legs kicked out. His cloak was pulled around to hide the wounds in his chest as always, and Yugi elbowed him lightly.

“Come on, let’s toast your last night here.”

Atem’s face still said this was ill advised, but his eyes were bright as Yugi uncorked the bottle. It smelled bitter, but not rancid, and he poured a small amount into both mugs.

When he passed one over, Atem accepted it, fingers brushing together. And for a second Yugi forgot what he’d wanted to actually toast to.

“Cheers to…” Yugi tried to rally his thoughts. It was surprisingly hard to say Honda’s name. “All those who were lost here. May they all find peace.”

They solemnly tapped their ceramic mugs together, and Yugi broke from Atem’s intense stare to bravely throw his drink back in one go.

It burned hot all the way down his throat, and Yugi retched. “Ugh, okay, Joey was right. That is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Atem set his own mug down, untouched, while a smug amusement flashed across his face.

Yugi valiantly tried to keep a straight face, but the taste of it wouldn’t leave his tongue and he ended up going back to the kitchen to make the tea anyway. When he came back, he settled down close enough to Atem that their outstretched legs touched, one of Yugi’s socked feet lightly knocking against Atem’s leather shoe.

“I’ll probably go back to Domino,” Yugi said. “After we’re done here. But if there’s somewhere you want to go, or anything you want to see…” He nervously tapped his thumb against the side of his now hot mug of tea. The ring made a light metallic sound against the ceramic. “I’ll take you anywhere you want.” It was hard to imagine Atem following him through the streets of Hawkins Harbour or Domino. Maybe they could get away with it someplace like New York. Or if Atem wanted to… not be laid to rest, but to exist somewhere warm and tranquil, Yugi would do that for him. “I haven’t travelled much, but would you want to go back to Egypt? Or Europe?”

Yugi was staring hard at where their toes touched, but the ghost gently took the cup from his hands and set it on the floor. He then carefully placed his hand on Yugi’s face, turning him to meet his eyes. There was silence in Atem’s touch, but the sensation flooded his senses the same as the sound of the ocean had before.

Atem leaned in to place a kiss on his opposite cheek, and pressed in with shadows, just enough to speak.

“I want to go wherever you are.”

“O-ok,” Yugi said, breathless. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“Taking me from here is enough, Yugi,” Atem said, still holding Yugi’s face, mouth now trailing a cool line down his jaw. And Yugi thought it was terribly unfair that Atem could keep doing _that_ while he had to use his mouth to carry on both sides of a conversation. “You should not do anything for me except live your life however you want. What would _you_ like to do?”

Yugi was thinking of some very specific things he’d like to do, but offered up a benign answer. “I used to work for a place called Kaiba Corp. I wasn’t doing anything important before, but maybe when we go back, I can submit something to their game development competition, or sign up for a Duel Monster’s tournament—” Yugi was cut off by a sigh as Atem’s fingers drifted down his neck, over the warm pulse there, and it was impossible to know who it had come from.

“You would be formidable in either.” Atem, despite having no idea what either of those things actually entailed, said it so plainly, with such simple certainty, and Yugi was sure his heart was going to burst from these soft touches and kind words.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to do?” he asked.

“Is it alright if I just stay close to you?”

It made Yugi both deliriously happy, and profoundly sad. That Atem, longing for the life that he never got to have for himself, would simply haunt the warmth of Yugi, live vicariously through him. It seemed a little cruel to continue to exist like that.

But Yugi nodded, and instead of speaking further he turned to bring their lips together.

Atem readily returned the kiss, pressing in hungrily to feel Yugi’s warmth through the veil of death that separated them.

And Yugi hardly noticed when Atem, so focused on pulling them closer together, brought out his other hand from under his cloak. It felt wet against Yugi’s face, but he didn’t flinch away from that bloody touch. He pushed Atem back, without breaking away, until they were both sprawled on the floor, his knees bracketing Atem’s hips. A needy groan that _probably_ wasn’t Yugi sounded between them.

“Atem…” Yugi managed, as the ghost tried to capture every warm puff of air from Yugi’s mouth. “Can you… feel any of this?”

He opened his eyes at that, still holding Yugi close, thumbs stroking along Yugi’s jaw. His red right hand left a smear across Yugi’s skin, thick and dark, before vanishing a moment later like it had never existed.

“…I cannot,” came the quiet lament. “I can only feel through you.”

The darkness that let Atem speak was hardly there against Yugi’s senses, nothing more than a hesitant brush of Atem’s consciousness against his own. But Atem was also something solid beneath him, staring up at Yugi with a fierce reverence, like even this shallow contact was enough to make him feel alive.

Yugi thought he could maybe do better than that. He shut his eyes, searching inside his mind for something of Atem to hold on to, and pulled Atem all the way in against his heart.

Atem went into him willingly.

*

The stars were coming out, a purple twilight fading into regal navy, when Yugi left the keepers quarters. He had pulled on his yellow raincoat over his sweaters to stave off the bite in the air as he made his way up the tower.

The cold air was nothing to the warmth he felt inside. Another two shots of Herb’s awful moonshine had served up a solid dose of liquid courage for what the night would bring.

And courage also, from the spirit walking behind him.

He started the new beacon with no trouble. It sent a brilliant beam of light sweeping across the Sound, and Yugi took one last moment to look out over the water. It was a beautiful place, if not for its cursed history.

Atem placed a hand on his shoulder, ready to pull Yugi away from the view.

Of course Atem was more than done with this place. It was time for their reckless endeavour.

To see if Atem could come away with Yugi.

To see if they could end the Crawford’s terrible legacy.

“Let’s do this,” Yugi said.

Atem nodded but leaned in once more. He wasn’t looking to speak, only to press one last cold kiss against Yugi’s lips, like a seal to mark the end of this long parcel of time.

*

Yugi’s lantern lit the way down the path to the boathouse.

The boat was tied up inside, but when Yugi pulled the ripcord, it didn’t start. He checked all the things he could remember Herb telling him. Fuel, fuel lines, the clutch… but it wouldn’t start. He pried off the cover, and held up the lamp to examine it. The inside was corroded with salt and rust. Irreparable damage from when the boat had overturned with Yugi.

Atem touched his shoulder to get his attention and pointed to two huge oars laying across pegs on the wall. They were massive, and it took both of them to pull them down and slot the pins into the oarlocks in the middle of the boat.

Yugi’s ribs were screaming from the effort, and as he surveyed the boat, he wondered how he’d be able row the whole way across the Sound. Yugi worried at the ring sitting loose on his thumb.

Atem would hopefully be able to help.

“Hold on a second,” he said, and went to a back corner where a crate held coils and scraps of rope. He fished around for the thinnest, shortest piece he could find, and slipped the ring onto it. He knotted it in the middle to keep it securely in place, and then tied it around his neck.

When he turned to show Atem his handiwork, the ghost placed his hand over top of it, where it lay over his heart.

“Come on,” Yugi gently prompted when Atem didn’t move for a while.

Yugi placed the lantern near the bow, and stepped in. He held his balance as the boat wobbled beneath him, and shimmied over to the middle seat where the oars were pinned on each side.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Atem was still on the dock, tense as he stared at Yugi’s outstretched hand. The lamplight illuminated the hundred different emotions flashed across his face.

For a second Yugi feared he might lose Atem to his shadowy past. Or that this was as far as Atem could go.

But Atem finally steeled himself. He took Yugi’s hand, and joined him in the boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to admit that I wrote funky ghost smut and then edited it out like a goddamn COWARD. This fic will live on with it’s modest T rating. [ETA: it's now posted separately as part of a series. Have fun!]


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